Call Me Connie
by VenomousButterfly
Summary: For years, most of the other nations have believed Alfred went through a split-personality disorder during the Civil War. That is simply not true: the two sides were split from the beginning. And this is their story. A Historical Romance feat. USXCSA a.k.a. United StatesXConfederate States of America or AmericaXfem!America a.k.a. USXfem!US . Poss. slight AU. May be M-rated later
1. Please Wait for Me

**Ch. 1—P****lease Wait for Me**

"Hold on, so you are America too?" Alfred said, blinking at the small four-year-old girl in front of him.

She blushed and nodded at the eight-year-old. "I suppose that I am." She clenched her fists. _Does he want to fight me for the name? _she wondered.

Both children sat cross-legged on the floor of the cave she had chosen for her "house" and furnished with a lamp and some bedding. It was a small cave, but since they were both small themselves, it didn't seem cramped; an adult would have argued otherwise. The girl had draped a makeshift curtain across the front of the cave with some cloth she had taken from a nearby villager's clothesline. It was warm during the day, but she needed it to block out the cold Carolinian nighttime air.

Just ten minutes previously, Alfred had happened upon her in the middle of her lunch of strawberries, which she had picked in the forest, and the pie and eggs she had stolen from a nearby farmhouse window and hen-house. When she had demanded to know why he thought it was all right to barge into her "house" uninvited, he had explained that he had noticed the curtain earlier and thought it was some child's abandoned "fort". He had sneaked away from his house and "England's boring lessons" to make it his new hideout.

For some unknown reason, she had felt obliged to share with him her meager meal after his bold declaration that he meant her no harm and that he would be on his way if she wanted him to do so. When he had introduced himself as "America", she had replied that she too was that nation, and that had started the current "discussion".

The blue-eyed, blond eight-year-old furrowed his brow and crossed his arms. "How do you _know_ that you are America?" Alfred demanded.

She shrugged. "I do not _know_ it really. For all I know, I might be some other colony or country," she said. "After I was born, I thought that France or Spain was my papa because I could speak both of their languages very well. However, when they did not acknowledge me, I decided to wander the land and find out where I belonged."

She pointed towards the village. "When I first saw you and England walking from the village to your house last week, I heard him call you 'America', and that name seemed right." She clasped her hands to her chest and the organ she was referring to beat harder as if it was trying to confirm what she had said. "English suddenly came naturally for me, and I just knew 'America' was my name too." She glanced at Alfred. "In addition, we look similar." She placed a hand under her blond waves and fluffed some hair as if to demonstrate her point. She saw his eyes narrow as he gazed into hers.

"Your eye color is not exactly mine—they seem more of a blue-gray than my blue—but it is close enough." He let out a sigh. "Well we cannot have the same name," Alfred said. "That will just get confusing."

"Wait . . . so you are accepting that I am America?" the girl asked hesitantly. "I thought you might demand that I give up the name or try to make me 'go away'." She held up her index and middle fingers for the last two words and moved them up and down, as if to imply they meant something more than they did.

Alfred gasped. "I am an English gentleman," he said. "I would never harm a lady or force her to vacate her . . ." He paused and glanced around the cave. He wrinkled his nose, giving his surroundings a disdainful look. "Premises," he finished.

The four-year-old girl sniffed and wiped her nose before it could run. "Thank you," she said, looking down at her lap.

"You are quite welcome," Alfred said. "However, I did not exactly say I accepted you were America. I do not know who exactly you are, but I know one thing for sure: you are a nation . . . or at least a colony of one, not a regular human."

The girl looked up. "If you do not accept that I am America, how do you know I am a nation or a colony?"

Alfred shrugged and pointed a thumb at his stomach. "My gut tells me so." He folded his arms and nodded. "Besides, you are wearing the same type of outfit I wore when I was 'born'," Alfred continued, pointing at the white gown that grazed the tops of her knees.

Her cheeks grew hot with embarrassment at showing too much skin, and she tugged down on the hem. The dress had covered her whole body when she was still new to the world, but her body had quickly grown from a two-year-old to a four-year-old in what seemed like a matter of months. She was forced to steal some Pantaloon underwear from one of the local villagers. As far as she'd been able to determine, there were no girls her age nearby, so stealing a dress hadn't been an option.

The girl thought about how she had managed to survive so far and an ache filled her heart. She'd already taken so much that many residents were now tying dogs to the edges of their yards, making getting what she needed more difficult to do. Her stomach growled, and tears welled up in her eyes. The meal she had in front of her was a welcome repast; she hadn't eaten for days.

Alfred held out his hands as if he wanted to comfort her but didn't touch her. "What is the matter?"

The small girl tried to laugh and wiped her eyes. "I say I am a nation like you, but I don't have a big brother like you do with England," she said, her voice cracking slightly.

Alfred got a guilty expression on his face.

"And I do not have proper clothes or food. I am hungry all the time," she continued. "When I think about it carefully now, part of me starting to wonder if I am even a nation at all. I only clung to the identity of America because my heart told me to do so . . . Maybe I am some sort of strange creature, made solely to imitate you for a brief period and then fade away into nothingness."

Alfred placed his hands on the tops of his crossed legs, his eyes crinkled as a slight smile came to his face. He then got up on his knees, placed his hands on her shoulders, and leaned in to give her a kiss on the cheek, catching some of the tears.

The girl blinked and stared at him, her cheeks warmed from the blush that had rushed to her face. "What was that for?"

"You seemed like you needed it," he stated, smiling widely. "How about this: I shall act as your big brother until we figure out what or who you are. I will take care of you like England cares for me. How does that sound?"

The girl returned his smile. "Like the most wonderful thing I have ever heard."

Alfred's face crimsoned. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away from her. "There is no need to express it that strongly. It is what a gentleman should offer a lady in distress." He sat back on his legs and held up his index finger. "First things first. You need a name because I am not going to call you America." He rubbed his chin and then looked at her. "Where were you born?"

"I do not clearly remember," she stated. "I think it may have been Virginia, but then part of me remembers villagers calling themselves Georgians." She shook her head and then rubbed it. "I keep falling asleep, and when I wake up the next morning, the strangest things have happened: I'm covered in leaves, it seems like my body has grown or my clothes have shrunk, and I am disoriented, and it takes a while to remember where I am or who I am."

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "That is odd," he said. "My body does not do that. It takes years before I need larger clothes." He shook his head. "Well then, I was going to call you by the colony you were born in, but since we do not know which that is, how about this colony?"

"This colony?"

"Yes," he replied. "The settlers just won a war against the Yamasee tribe, and the Lords Proprietors just relinquished their charter to the Crown. They were allowed to keep their land but split it into two colonies: North and South Carolina."

"Which colony are we in?" the girl asked.

"South," the boy replied, "but I'm not going to call you that. I'll just call you 'Carolina'." He paused. "Do you like your new name?"

Carolina gave him a small smile. "I love it."

Alfred crimsoned a little and scratched his nose. "England gave me the name of Alfred Foster Jones. You can call me that or America, whichever you wish."

"May I call you 'big brother'?" she asked.

His face grew even redder. "Zounds! I can see now why England would not let me call him that. It is embarrassing for some reason. No, please just call me Alfred or America."

She nodded. "As you wish, Alfred," she replied_. __Even though I do not have proof, my heart still tells me that I __a__m America too_, she mused. _If I call him America, then __it will be like I am __giving up my right to be called that name._

Alfred stood and held out his hand to her. She took it, and he helped her stand. "We need to get you some proper clothes, Carolina," he said. "After all, it is your birthday, and I need to get you a gift."

"But, Alfred, today is not my birthday," she stated.

"It is now," he replied. "Nations are allowed to select or change their birth date according to whatever is appropriate. It is usually when they are established, so that makes August 20, 1729, your official birthday." He winked at her. "Until you decide to change it."

Grasping her hand, Alfred guided her out of the forest and to the house he and England were sharing. "Wait here while I butter-up England," he instructed.

Carolina stood under the kitchen window and heard the front door slam.

"Where have you been young man?" she heard England say as his voice carried through the kitchen window's panes.

"I needed some fresh air," Alfred replied.

"I should punish you for skipping out on your history lessons," England said, "but I understand. I was young once too."

Alfred laughed. "Are you not still in your teens, sir?"

England laughed in response. "Yes. I suppose I am. My body feels older sometimes."

"England, what if I told you that I brought someone home because she needed me to take care of her?" Alfred asked.

_That is a terribly roundabout way of asking permission for me to stay here_, Carolina thought.

"America, did you bring home another stray cat?" England asked, sounding cross. "I told you already: no pets."

"No she is not—" Alfred started to say. Carolina could only guess that England's expression was terrifying because the small boy then said, "Yes sir." ending the argument.

"Please excuse me for a moment," Alfred continued. "I need to take care of something outside."

"Well, do not take long. We are about to have dinner," England said.

Carolina heard the door slam again, and moments later, Alfred rounded the corner of the house. He held his finger to his lips and beckoned for her to come closer. Hesitantly, she walked towards him. He grabbed her hand and led her to the front room window.

"Stay right here," he said in a hushed voice.

She suppressed the laugh that almost bubbled up and out of her. _It is just us two. Why is he whispering?_

Alfred reentered the house through the front door, and less than a minute later he was pushing open the front room window. "Come on, then," he quietly commanded, holding out his hands.

Carolina placed her hands in his and he pulled her up and into the front room without any straining or noise. It was like she weighed no more than a blade of grass to him.

"America, have you washed for supper?" England called from the kitchen.

Alfred flinched and looked towards the other room. "Not yet, England, I will do that now," he replied.

Holding a finger to his mouth, he motioned for her to follow him. They noiselessly ascended the stairs until they reached a dead end at the end of the upstairs hallway. Alfred pushed on the wall and a secret door opened.

"I do not know why this is here, but I discovered it when I first explored this house," Alfred whispered to her. "I cannot say how long we are to visit here in South Carolina, but I will make sure you are provided for even after we are gone."

"How?" Carolina asked. "You had to sneak me in here as it is."

Then in a gesture that surprised her, Alfred knelt and took her by the hand. He touched his lips lightly on her skin, and her face grew hot in response. "A-A-Al—" was all she could stutter out.

"Worry not, Princess Carolina," he quietly said doing his best to sound like England. "Your knight Alfred will not fail." He looked up at her and winked. "I saw that in a book once and always wanted to try it."

Carolina pulled her hand out of his and, trying to hide her embarrassment, thrust her chin upwards. "That was highly improper," she stated.

Alfred's expression fell.

She looked at his sad expression and her heart grew warm with affection and a desire to make him happy. _I suppose it would not hurt to play along_. "I only said that because I had not given you a token that you were my knight," she said as regally as she could in a soft voice. She then leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead.

Alfred's cheeks pinked up and he smiled at her. "Thank you, milady," he said quietly, bowing his head. "I shall endeavor in my first quest: to get you some clothes and some dinner."

"America! The food is getting cold," England called from downstairs.

"I will be right there," Alfred called back. He stood and gave Carolina a slight bow. "Stay here, milady, and listen for us to come up. I shall also try to get you some bedding and a candle for the night, and then I'll get those clothes for you." Then he turned and rushed downstairs.

Obtaining dinner, a candle and some bedding proved to be relatively easy, according to Alfred. England always made more than enough food because Alfred had a large appetite, and then the older nation went to bed early because he was tired. The two smaller colonies stayed up for an hour making up a list of things Alfred would have to get for her before he left the area.

"Good night, sweet lady," Alfred said with a bow before closing the secret door.

Carolina looked around the room. It was not much larger than her cave, but it was definitely warmer. She was used to not having a bed, so the straw and blankets Alfred had provided were actually more comfortable than the leaves she had been sleeping on. Needless to say, sleep found her rather easily.

Over the next few months, Alfred managed to get her everything on the list. First on the list was a dress. He decided to obtain several dresses in progressively larger sizes because in three weeks, she had mysteriously grown the same size as his eight-year-old body. To accumulate funds for buying food and necessities, he managed to take coins from England's coin purse without his noticing.

Then Alfred started teaching Carolina how to read and write, which she learned surprisingly easily and quickly, so quickly that he also had to "borrow" a few books for her as well (since she was stuck in the little room for most of the time England was at home). Other than that, Alfred needed to get her food and drink as often as he could.

Her appetite seemed to be even larger than his, but at least her growth spurt seemed to have slowed to a normal rate. She seemed to be growing at the same rate as Alfred. A year passed without Alfred getting caught taking things from the house. He even started bringing her preserved goods in jars.

"What is it Alfred?" Carolina asked one evening when Alfred came into her "room" with a sullen expression. She set aside the book she was reading and stood up from the cushion he'd provided her for a chair.

"We are heading north soon," he said. "England has some business to do, and I do not know when we will be back here. I am sorry, Carolina."

She shook her head and walked over to him before embracing him. "You helped me more than I could have ever expected from anyone else." She released him slightly and gestured towards the several purses in one corner of the room. "I believe I have enough money to provide for myself if necessary and plenty of preserved food as well." She reached up and cupped his face in her hands. "You have been more generous than I could ever have expected from a brother. Do not worry about me. If all else fails, I will hire myself out as an indentured servant."

"No!" Alfred suddenly wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace. "I do not want that to happen; it would break my heart!"

This was not a reaction Carolina had expected from him. "Alfred . . ." Her heart started to pound as she brought her hands up to his shoulders to comfort him. As soon as she touched him, though, her heart started to ache and tears welled up in her eyes. She realized she needed him to comfort her as much as he needed her comfort. She hugged him back and found the ache subsided a little when she did.

"I thought I would be able to say farewell when the time came," Alfred whispered to her, still holding her close to him. "But I find now that I cannot say the words. I am not ready to."

The tears pooling in her eyes began to trail warm rivers down her cheeks, and she buried her face in his shoulder. "Oh, Alfred, Alfred! I do not want to say goodbye either. Do you really have to go?"

Alfred clung to her even tighter and, to Carolina, it seemed like they would both break to pieces if they let go of each other now. His tears dampened her shoulder as he reached up to stroke her hair while still holding her around her waist with his other hand. They embraced like that for several minutes while they both wept quietly.

"I must go," Alfred said finally, moving slightly away from her. "England says it is my duty." He noticed that her face was still wet with tears. "Ah, this will not do." Still holding onto one of her hands, he reached in his pocket and gave her his handkerchief. "Here, use this for your tears."

She wiped her eyes, but the tears still continued to flow.

Alfred furrowed his brow, and tears began to form in his eyes again. He cupped her face and began to kiss the tears away. "Do not cry, Carolina," he said in-between kisses. "I will find a way to sneak you into our new home as soon as we are settled. I will write to you."

She tried to stop crying and hiccuped out a breath. "Really?"

Alfred nodded. "I promise: I will write you as soon as I have enough money to get you to our new home."

At that promise, her tears started to subside. She inhaled a shaky breath and released a sigh. "All right," Carolina said, wiping the remaining tears away with his handkerchief. They held hands for a moment and both smiled, their hearts feeling as warm as their hands.

"America! I need you to help me with packing," England called.

Carolina forced herself to release his hands. "You must go now." She pushed him toward the entrance of the room. "Go before he tries to find you."

The house was filled with commotion for the next two weeks as England and Alfred packed and moved out their belongings. Alfred brought her as much from his own property as he could without it being missed.

"Goodbye," he whispered as he embraced her before he was about to leave. Tears leaked out of his eyes. "I promise I will come for you or write you. Please wait for me."

Carolina nodded and kissed his cheek. She opened her mouth but then hesitated. For the last couple of days, there had been some hints of that familiar sleepiness that had caused her to grow so quickly in the past. _No_, she told herself. _It is needless to worry him. _"I will wait," she said finally.

"America, get your bloody arse out here!" England hollered from the carriage. "I am tired of waiting."

Alfred kissed her cheek once more, then turned and hurried down the stairs. Carolina ran to his bedroom window and glanced out. She could see England scolding Alfred. She raised an eyebrow; she wasn't expecting England to look so young nor did she expect to see that despite his harsh words and strict manners, his eyes showed a brotherly love for Alfred.

Sighing, she propped herself up against the window sill, but then stumbled. Her whole body ached, and she was tired and dizzy. She shuffled back to the room and flopped down on the mattress that Alfred had moved there just days before, pulling the covers over her head to block out any light in the room. The sleep that had claimed months of her conscious self over a year ago edged its dark claws around her and gripped her tightly as her her eyelids closed almost involuntarily.

* * *

**A/n **

**I honestly hope that you've enjoyed reading this so far. I resisted writing this one for a while b/c I was worried that it might not go over well with the fandom . . . but the idea won't leave me alone so I had to get it out and up here.**

**I know I called it a Confederacy fic and it doesn't look like one yet, but I promise it will soon. Bear with me and read on to the next chapter. I know, I know. Right now it's looking like a romance story and that's it. Speaking of which, I haven't decided how much romance I'll be putting in this story (that is, whether or not it will have any lime scenes . . . I haven't decided yet), but regardless, the rating will likely go up due to the violent nature of war. **

**Also, I appreciate any comments you give me b/c feedback helps me to know if you find this story interesting or if I am just shouting in the darkness at a world that isn't listening. Thanks for reading!**

**Lastly, the title of the entire story will eventually make sense; I promise!**

**Hetalia belongs to Himaruya and other license holders, not me.**


	2. Sleeping Southern Belle

******Ch. 2—Sleeping (Southern) Belle**

"Oh it's just horrible, William," Carolina heard a woman say as if in a dream. "I still cannot believe they burned Washington, the brutes!"

"It gets worse, Emily my dear," a male voice replied. "They looted many government buildings before burning them. It's horrible! And as if that wasn't enough, more and more slaves are escaping every day to join their ranks! Imagine: they would rather risk death in battle than stay content with their masters. I can't understand it at all. One thing I know for sure is that if there are any Loyalists still left in our country, there won't be after all the Crown has done to us."

Carolina raised her head and pulled back the covers. They released a cloud of dust into the air, and she did her best to suppress her sneeze so that the people speaking wouldn't hear it. She lit a candle and looked down at her body. Sure enough, she had grown again, but this time she looked like she was around 11 or so. She got up from her bed and slipped on a larger dress. As she put her hand through one of the sleeves, it tore right off and fell onto the floor. She stared at the sleeve. The material was rotted and moth-eaten.

_What on earth? How long was I asleep?_ she wondered. She glanced around the room: everything was coated in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs covered every corner.

She glanced at the other dresses and items around the room and saw they were also in various stages of decay. She then remembered something that made her heart jump to her throat. _If they're all rotting, then—!_ she thought, dashing over to a small trunk. Taking the key she had hanging around her neck, she unlocked the trunk and opened it. Glancing inside, she saw that the handkerchief Alfred had given her and sighed in relief. She reached in and held it up in the candlelight so she could inspect it more closely. It had yellowed a little with time and smelled old, but the trunk had protected it from the elements and time.

She ran her finger over the monogrammed _A.F.J._ and then a thought occurred to her: Why hadn't Alfred come to get her? The man's voice she heard couldn't possibly be him; the woman had called the man "William", not "Alfred".

Unsure of who might be on the other side of the door to her little room, she waited until it was quiet and then pushed open the door. She hardly recognized the place; it had been redecorated in a style she'd never seen before.

Quietly she slipped into one of the upstairs rooms and searched through trunks until she found a dress that would fit. Just in time, she heard the new residents return, and she hurried back to her room. She wasn't able to stay hidden for long, however. She tried to do a little cleaning and ended up sneezing several times because of the dust. Within a minute, a young girl nudged the door open and peeked in.

"I knew I saw someone disappear through the wall here earlier. I'm so glad it wasn't a ghost," she exclaimed. She glanced around the little room. "I always thought there was something strange about how this house was laid out."

"Please do not hurt me," Carolina begged. "I will leave here tonight once you are all asleep."

The 10-year-old brunette girl raised an eyebrow. "Why would I hurt you? You talk strangely, did you know that?" she asked. She noticed the tattered clothes hanging nearby. "Those dresses look like my grandmother's dresses," she stated, "but why are they tattered and why is your room so dusty?"

"I suppose that it is because I have been asleep—" Carolina clapped a hand to her mouth. This girl would surely think it odd for anyone to sleep so long that dust could accumulate like it had.

The girl raised an eyebrow. "Asleep? How—I know! You must be a fairy princess under an evil sleeping spell!" She looked more closely at Carolina. "I see. That's where my dress went. You can have it. I hated it. Don't worry: I won't hurt you, and I'll keep your secret. Are you hungry? I can get you some food."

Carolina held up her hand to stop the girl's rambling. "I am not a—" She stopped in her denial of being one of the faerie. _Perhaps this can be used to my advantage__,_ she thought. "I am not allowed to tell you if I am a fairy," she corrected. "But if you will tell me the year and your name, I can tell you mine."

"I'm Dorothea Stower," she said, "and the year—although I don't know why you need to know that—is 1814."

Carolina tried her best not to show any shock. _I've been asleep 84 years? How?_ "My name is Carolina," she replied finally.

"Amazing! Just like our state!" Dorothea said with a smile.

Carolina blinked. "State? Is this not a colony of the British Empire?"

Dorothea laughed. "No! We haven't been colonies to Britain for years." She looked over her shoulder. "Papa says I don't need to know this stuff," she whispered, "but I peek in his books and listen to his conversations with Mama on politics all the time. I think our country's history and politics are interesting."

"Country?"

"Yes," Dorothea replied. "Don't you know about that?"

Carolina rubbed her head. "Well, I have been asleep in this room for a while."

"Oh, that makes sense," Dorothea said. "Well, fairy, South Carolina is one of the . . ." She paused to count on her fingers, " . . . I think it's 17? . . . states in a country called the United States of America."

"Wait a moment," Carolina said, holding up her hand. "So England let America become a country?"

Dorothea laughed again. "Gracious me, no! America had to fight in a war to get freedom from Britain." She shook her head. "You must have been asleep for a long time, fairy, because that happened even before my Papa was born."

_Alfred . . . you have many things you will need to tell me_, Carolina thought. "So when I heard someone talking about the British burning Washington, who or what were they talking about?" she asked.

"Washington?. . . Oh! You must mean the Capitol, Washington, D.C.," Dorothea said. She rubbed her chin. "I didn't hear the whole story, but apparently a neighbor told Mama about how the British burned down our Capitol. Papa comforted her by telling about how our soldiers beat them back to Baltimore."

"So was this in retaliation for the war fought all those years ago, or was it just a whim on Britain's part?" Carolina asked.

"I'm not sure about that, but I do know that this war we're fighting with Britain has nothing to do with the War for Independence," Dorothea stated, "and some of the army is from our neighboring country, Canada." She looked at Carolina and frowned. "But I didn't think fairies were interested in history or politics."

"Yes, well, I'm a special kind of fairy," Carolina replied. "I'd love to hear more history if you'll tell me, but first I must ask you, have you or anyone who lived in this house before you ever received letters from an Alfred Jones?"

Dorothea shook her head. "Not that I know of. Mama and Papa handle all the letters that come here, and none of them are ever for me, so I don't know who writes us."

"I see," Carolina said. _So the reason I slept so long and why Alfred did not come to wake me may be because of all the war and commotion_, she concluded. _Well, that is all right. I still have all this money. But now I wonder if anyone will take it since it is British money._

"If you like, I could sneak a peek and see if it's in Papa's letterbox," Dorothea suggested.

"I would appreciate it," Carolina replied.

For the next couple of months, Carolina's new friend helped feed her and make the room livable again. Dorothea also taught her about everything that she had missed out over those 84 years, including about the new government that had been established. For the most part, they were unnoticed when they conversed, but they had several near-discoveries by the slaves serving in the house or by Dorothea's parents. Unfortunately, none of the letters in Mr. Stower's study were addressed to Carolina or from Alfred. Both of these things encouraged Carolina to decide to stop waiting and go herself to see Alfred.

So one morning, she waited until the house quieted and then slipped past the servants in the kitchen and out the door. She found that the bank nearby gladly accepted the coinage she had but as gold, not British currency. They gave her US money in exchange.

Carolina promptly walked over to the general store and bought some paper and borrowed a pen and ink. She wrote a letter to the President's home in the Capitol but addressed it to Alfred Jones. To prevent suspicion, she instructed Alfred to address the letter to Dorothea and talk in code by telling a fairytale about Carolina the fairy and a knight named Alfred, and then she sent it out before returning to her home. She nearly got caught by the gardener sneaking in the back door, but somehow managing to escape the rest of the servants' notice.

Carolina was sure she would get a quick response. Months passed; it never came. Even after the war with England ended, no letter came for her via Dorothea.

_Perhaps his name is too common and the postman was unable to find him_, she concluded one evening after snuffing out her candle. She didn't want to voice or even think the other possibility: perhaps Alfred had forgotten about her. She shook her head.

_He wouldn't have forgotten me so easily,_ she told herself, reaching over to her little trunk and pulling out Alfred's handkerchief. _We cared about each other too deeply for that to happen. Besides, he made a solemn promise as my knight that he'd come for me. He wouldn't forget that, right?_ She ran her thumb over the initials on the cloth and smiled at them before placing it back in the trunk and locking it.

She climbed onto the mattress Dorothea had helped to repair and re-stuff and pulled the new blanket her little friend had given her up to her chin. As she started to close her eyes, the same sleep that had knocked her out for so long gripped at her toes. _No! I must stay awake, _she silently screamed at it. _If Alfred can't come to me, I need to try to find him and go to him._

The sleep seemed to laugh at her as she struggled in vain against it. Using the last of her energy, she pulled the blanket over her head; if she was going to sleep a long time again, she didn't want dust in her hair. _No . . . I need . . . Alfred . . ._ she thought futilely, silently weeping as her body gave into a deep sleep.

"But Momma, there is a girl, I swears it," Carolina heard through a sleepy haze. The door to her room pushed open, and the chocolate-colored face of a 15-year-old girl peeked in. "See?" the girl said. "There she is."

A dark-skinned adult woman poked her head in behind the girl's. "Lord bless us, you was telling the truth," the woman said. "The Missus gonna have to know about this."

"No, please don't tell anyone I'm here," Carolina begged.

The woman shook her head. "No can do, Missy," she said, closing the door. "Carolina, you stay here and keep watch," she heard the woman tell the girl.

As soon as she heard footsteps go down the stairs, she quickly unlocked her little trunk and gathered everything she could fit inside into it before pushing open the door to the room. The girl jumped.

"Don't be afraid," Carolina said. "I won't hurt you. I'm Carolina too. Please let me leave."

The slave girl's eyes seemed to sparkle for a moment as if they had a connection merely through their names. "Push me down," she said.

"What?"

"Push me down 'n run," she stated. "The Missus or Mastah is most likely gonna put you in an orph'nage. I's gonna get beat if I jus' let you go. But if you fight me, maybe I ain't gonna get beat for you gettin' away."

Carolina nodded and pushed the girl as she had requested. She went flying against the opposite wall.

"I'm sorry! I don't know my own strength," Carolina cried, running up to the girl.

The girl clutched her arm. "I's okay, just go," she said through her teeth. She tried to move her arm and winced. "This is gonna give me a good excuse."

Carolina nodded and ran down the stairs, pushing past some servants who were down there. She blindly ran down the street, not watching where she was going until she ran into someone and was suddenly buried in petticoats, losing her little trunk in the process.

"Good gracious!" the woman she ran into cried.

"I'm sorry," Carolina said, crawling on the pavement over to the woman. She helped her stand and brush the dirt off her skirts.

"It's all right, child. I wasn't hurt," the woman said.

Carolina nodded and then scrambled to find her trunk; it was lying in the gutter on its side. She picked it up, tucked it under her arm again, and turned to leave when a hand grabbed her arm, stopping her. She turned to find the woman staring at her.

She examined Carolina's expression and her tattered clothes, and the woman's face softened. "Why you poor little thing! You look like you've had the fright of your life." The woman released her arm and grabbed her hand; it was warm against the wind. "What's your name child?"

"Carolina Jones."

"Well Carolina. My name is Helen Goodman. How old are you child?" she asked.

"How old do I look?" Carolina asked, biting her lip.

The woman tapped her chin. "Well, I'd say you're about the same age as my dear Anna: 14."

"I see," Carolina replied, her head reeling from the estimation. Tears involuntarily formed and spilled down her cheeks. _What is wrong with my body? It __seemed__ like I just fell asleep last night, and yet Dorothea wasn't anywhere to be found, there were strangers in the house, my clothes are shabby again, and Alfred . . . how many years have passed this time?_

Helen furrowed her brow. "Why are you crying? Are you lost? Are you hurt?" she asked, touching Carolina's arms and shoulders for broken bones. "Where is your home? I'll take you back to your family."

Carolina shook her head. "I don't have any family. I lost them."

Helen unexpectedly embraced her in a warm hug. "Oh my dear little one, you must be one of those who recently lost your family to disease. Come spend Christmas with me, you poor thing!"

Instinctively, Carolina returned her embrace.

"You can be our daughter until we find your extended family," Helen continued. "We'll get you out of these tattered clothes and something in your belly. You look so thin I'd swear you hadn't eaten in years."

_That's very likely_, Carolina thought sardonically. "Won't your husband protest a new mouth to feed?"

Helen laughed and took her by the hand. "The plantation is mine, dear child," she said, "and all the slaves and animals. My husband lets me do whatever I want."

* * *

"So you have still no memories at all," Anna asked Carolina as they looked over the March 16, 1861 edition of _Harper's Weekly_+. Mr. George Goodman had let them have the older issues of the magazine to look at "for the pictures", but Carolina had been carefully reading the articles as well. They were sitting on a bay window seat next to him enjoying the sunshine while Papa Goodman perused most recent edition, March 30th.

"So our army may finally be getting possession of Fort Sumter . . . hopefully the US forces won't change their mind," he grumbled quietly before setting it aside and picking up the _Edgefield Advertiser_. He still purchased _Harper's Weekly_ despite the fact that it seemed to be leaning "more and more towards the Union's cause" as he had put it the week before. He had started reading one of the local newspapers in order to get a more balanced view of things.

Carolina smiled at her new sister and shook her head. "It's all a blank nothing," she lied. "My memories are slowly coming back in bits and pieces though," she continued, glancing down at the magazine. Everything in it seemed to be about Union President Lincoln's inauguration along with some images from the event. Papa Goodman had also managed to obtain some photographs of the event as well as some other sketches made in honor of the event.

Carolina skimmed over the other people in the pictures, searching for someone no one else would even think to look for. One of the young men in one of the photographs looked like someone she knew, but she wasn't completely sure. She frowned slightly. _Alfred?. . . If that is him, he looks like he hasn't a care in the world_, she mused. _S__o he must have completely forgotten about me after all. _Her eyes stung with tears. _I've stayed here in this area waiting for nothing. I was stupid to think he'd come looking for me after all this time._

"What is it?" Anna asked, scanning her face and then looking at the photograph.

"Nothing," Carolina said, wiping away the tears before they fell. "I guess I got some dust in my eyes." She tossed the pictures and magazine aside, grabbing the February 23rd edition and flipping through it distractedly.

A map on the 124th page caught her attention, and she stopped to stare at it; it was a map of the Northern and Southern states. She flipped to the next page and looked at a group of pictures of men; the article below them gave some brief biographical information about the new President and Vice President of the Confederacy.

Carolina stared at Jefferson Davis's image for a minute, then flipped back to the picture of the map. A tickle started in her heart, and the organ palpitated at an idea that was growing in her mind. Everything about her current state of mind now made sense: why she was drawn to the South, why her opinion on every issue talked about in the magazines and newspapers—political or otherwise—was often decidedly opposite of the North's and the Union's, and why she existed. On those things, her mind was clear and lucid.

"Carolina, what is it? You're smiling like it's Christmas morning again," Anna said.

"I know who I am," Carolina said.

"Really?" George Goodman said as he perked up in his chair.

Helen, who had been content to listen to their conversation while she did her embroidery, looked up with eyes full of excitement. "Do tell us, dear."

She held up the magazine and pointed at the picture of the Jefferson Davis. "I'm _his_ niece."

George blinked. "Carolina, it's not Christian to make up stories. You'll go to hell for lying."

"No, Papa," she replied. "Give me money to go visit him. As soon as I meet him, I guarantee he'll be writing a letter asking you to let his long-lost niece live with him."

"I don't know," he said. "It's not right for a young lady to travel alone, Carolina."

"Then come with me, Papa," she said. "You'll have a hero's welcome—and my name's not Carolina. I guess I got that name from this state's name."

"Oh? What is your name then, child?" Helen asked.

The Confederate States of America smiled. "It's Emily."

* * *

The railroad trip from the city near the Goodman farm in South Carolina to Montgomery, Alabama, had taken about a week, but taking the train had shaved more than two weeks off of the trip had they traveled by carriage. Even though they had stopped and rested along the way, there was a stiffness resting on Emily's shoulders like a vulture. She rubbed them and tried her best not to groan. She didn't want to sound like she was complaining about the Goodmans taking the time and expense to get her to her destination.

It had been an interesting and growing experience for all. The Goodman family had slipped a couple of times in calling her "Carolina", but she was learning to keep from answering to it. There was no doubt in her mind that she was the Confederacy and that was what she was born to be, but training years of habit out of her mind was going to take a while.

She wasn't completely sure why she picked Emily.* She theorized she may have heard it somewhere or seen it in some book she had read. All she knew was the name seemed comfortable and right to her; it was that, and the fact that she couldn't hold onto the name Carolina anymore.

_If I'm going to do this, I need to reinvent myself,_ she told herself over and over. _I can't rely on the persona that Alfred—I mean, the Union—gave _me. To truly commit to the new identity she had created, she decided that her new birthday would be February 4, 1861, the date that the Confederate States of America had been formed; although she told her human parents, the Goodmans, only the month and date . . . minus 15 years. She couldn't tell them the _whole_ truth; they'd think she was insane.

She now knew the reason for the terrible stomach-ache she had back in January; it was no coincidence to her that the earthquake in South Carolina happened at exactly the same time. But she definitely couldn't tell them that the ache that caused her to faint back then was caused because she was a nation. If she'd told them that, not even Mama Goodman would have allowed the trip to take place.

As the family checked into a hotel, Papa Goodman wrote a letter to the Davis family, requesting a visit and claiming that Jefferson Davis's long-lost niece had been discovered. Emily knew she couldn't allow that letter to arrive without President Davis knowing _who_ his niece was, so while the family was resting from the trip, she slipped into some of Papa Goodman's clothes and darted toward the Davis home.

It was early evening and she calculated in her mind approximately where her new boss would be. She also theorized that he'd probably think she was crazy, so she figured she would have to come up with something phenomenal to convince him that she was the human representation of the Confederate States of America.

When she finally arrived at the Davis mansion home, she easily knocked out the guards at the gate and slipped into the backyard, running quietly across it. As she entered the backdoor, all noise within stopped. The slaves in the kitchen stared as she marched right past them. Guessing Jefferson Davis was in the study, she headed in the direction she thought such a room might exist in this home.

"Excuse me, sir," a slave said running up to her. "You can't come in here."

"I'm sorry for this," she said to him before thrusting her hand into his solar plexus; he flew across the room and into a crumpled heap. The commotion from this raised an alert to the guards who were in the living room. They rushed to where she was.

"Halt!" one shouted raising his rifle. "You have unlawfully entered the President's home."

Emily looked at him but said nothing. Jefferson Davis stepped out of his study and looked down the hallway to where she was. A smile came across her face as she strode towards him.

"Halt or I'll shoot!" one guard shouted while the other ordered President Davis to take cover.

Emily ignored him and continued forward, her eyes focused on Davis. "Hello Mr. President," she said just as she heard a boom behind her and felt a burning in her torso. She looked down to see blood bubbling out of her right side. She fingered the wound gently and then suddenly she couldn't breathe.

An involuntary cough forced its way out of her lungs, and Emily covered her mouth to catch it. Her heart skipped a beat as something warm and wet hit her palm. She pulled her trembling hand away from her mouth and looked at it; her palm was covered in blood. All at once, she became light-headed and her legs crumpled underneath her, causing her to fall to the floor. As she watched her vision grow dark, she heard a woman scream as if she was far away.

After what seemed like eternity and a few seconds all at the same time, Emily felt pressure against her chest, which made it ache and grow warmer. Her entire body seemed to tingle and the wound in her chest seemed to grow hot and painless.

"Good Lord, it's a young lady," she heard someone say as if they were far off and the pressure on her chest lessened.

She found herself able to breathe again, and her lungs hungrily drank in deep gulps of cool, clean, wonderful air. Emily opened her eyes to see President Davis and his two guards above her. They had removed Papa Goodman's hat and released all the hair she had tucked underneath. She reached up and pushed their hands away from her. She wiped the blood away from her mouth, and then, as she helped herself stand again, the guards and President Davis scrambled back and away from her.

"How are you alive?" President Davis asked, his eyes wide.

"Demon from hell!" one of the guards barked, lunging at her.

"Hardly," she said as she easily caught him by the collar, lifted him off his feet and tossed him away from her as if he was a rag doll. He hit a wall and fell in an unconscious heap. "I'd like to think of myself as more of a guardian angel." She glared at the other guard. He didn't move, but his finger twitched near his rifle's trigger. "Haven't you already learned that won't work?" she asked him.

"What are you?" President Davis whispered, barely audible.

Emily turned to him and curtsied like Mama Goodman had taught her. "'What' is probably apropos. I am the human representation of the Confederate States of America. If you don't believe me, you could ask Union President Lincoln who Alfred Jones is. I'll bet that he will either pretend that he has no idea who you are talking about or he'll have a hard time coming up with an answer. But I promise you he's just like me, only a little older."

She watched as President Davis regarded her. She smiled slightly when she saw his expression was calm and had a gleam of understanding to it.

The guard she had left standing shifted his weight. "Sir?"

President Davis held up his hand to stop the guard. "I believe her. Or should I say, I think it's worth giving her a chance to be believed. Especially after what we have all seen happen just now."

The other guard groaned and a slave helped him to his feet.

President Davis gestured for them to leave. "Get this young woman some proper clothing," he commanded them before looking at Emily. "I was rude before by asking you 'what' you were. What is your name, young lady . . . your human name, that is?"

"I am Emily Jones," she replied, "and I've come to help you win the Civil War."

* * *

**A/N**

**Okay so here's the Confederacy part. What do you think? (don't worry; I'll get back to Alfred soon enough). Please let me know what you think! Feedback will help me to make this a better story. **

**I haven't decided how much romance I'll be putting in this story (that is, whether or not the romance will be all fluff and "Disney"-like with only pure kisses, or if it will have ****more "****implied stuff" like the kind of stuff you'd see in a PG-13 movie****)****. **

**I've been told that my description/writing doesn't go over the T (teen) level, but I'm still concerned about it****. ****I have put on my profile a poll where you can let me know if I need to ****raise the rating or not. Please take a moment to vote? I would greatly appreciate it. Also, if ****you think my story should have a M rating and you don't want to let me know via my poll, could you PM me and let me know rather than report me to FFN? I'll happily change the rating.**

**_Please note that this is a fictional story_****. ****_I do not support slavery _****_of any kind_****!**

***As many fans of Nyotalia may know, Emily is the Japanese fanon name for fem!America as opposed to the name that most Western/English-speaking fans choose: Amelia (or something similar). The reason I picked Emily is because this fem!America's personality, origins, and situation is nothing like the Amelia that most fans know (at least it seems that way to me . . . she's definitely not acting or behaving the way most of the fics I've read portray fem!America). You'll see what I mean as the story progresses (although you kind of get a hint of it in this chapter). I honestly did try to call her Amelia in this chapter, and doing so just ****seemed**** wrong; when I changed it to Emily, ****it felt**** right.**

**Quite a bit of historical information on the Civil War seems to imply that the succession happened suddenly, but the abolitionists vs. the slavers issue had been around for hundreds of years . . . since the late 1600s if my research is correct. The issue would flare up every now and then, which is why I had Emily keep falling asleep and waking up again.**

**I decided, for length reasons, not to cover every little flare-up, but I chose to focus on the War of 1812 because British Royal Navy commanders of the blockading fleet, based at the Bermuda dockyard, were instructed to offer freedom to defecting American slaves, as the Crown had during the Revolutionary War. Thousands of slaves escaped over to the Crown and then helped fight on the British side. It caused a lot of disillusionment on the planters' part; they thought that the slaves were content with their lives and were shocked that so many would risk many difficulties to gain freedom with the help of a foreign power. After Treaty of Ghent was signed ending the war, the Americans protested that Britain's failure to return all slaves violated that treaty. After arbitration by the ****C****zar of Russia, the British paid over $1 million in damages to Washington, which reimbursed the slave-owners.**

**Finally, some historians argue that the Civil War wasn't about slavery; it was about ****economics**** and the states'**** right to govern themselves, ****and slavery was just a component of those other irreconcilable differences ****(and as ****I research more about this war****, I tend to agree with them)****. As a result of this disagreement about what caused the Civil War, there is also a disagreement about which of these issues killed the Confederacy ****(but I'll stop there lest I get ahead of myself)****.**

**BTW it's my head-canon that nations can't die . . . or actually that they can, but their bodies are connected to the land and people they represent, and so as long as those two things exist, the nation thrives and can heal quickly. That's why Emily could get shot, die, and then recover from that mortal wound.**

**And yes, the title is meant to be play on "Sleeping Beauty". ;p**

**Lastly, the title of the entire story will eventually make sense; I promise!**

**Oh yeah. ****Hetalia**** belongs to Himaruya and other license holders, not me.**


	3. Sincerely, Confed--Emil--Carolina Jones

**A/N After a lengthy discussion with a reader (and fellow writer), I came to the conclusion that, in a rush to get the next chapter out and move towards the plot ****point ****I wanted to write the most about, I neglected not only Emily's motivations for her behavior, but also the Confederacy's motivations for seceding. The following chapters (which, ****plot-wise,**** come before the previous Ch. 3, "The Truth Behind the Masks We Wear") are the result of ****3**** months****'**** worth of research, writing, and rewriting. I have two hopes from ****submitting these chapters****: that you like what you read and that they establish the motivation****s**** behind one of my main characte****rs (and ****the Confederacy)**** more clearly.**

* * *

**Ch.**** 3—****Sincerely, Confed . . . Emil . . . "Carolina Jones"**

Mrs. Varina Howell Davis looked up from her family bible. "Unfortunately there are not any Joneses in the Howell family line either," she said, running her finger down the long list of names written inside the cover. She had already looked through her husband, Jefferson Davis's, family line.

Mrs. Davis had come into the study after the commotion had settled after staring in horror at the mess that had been left from Emily's first encounter with the bodyguards. It took several minutes of her asking questions before she understood what Emily was and why there was a blood stain on hallway floor but no body in the hallway. Mrs. Davis had complained about the mess she now needed to have cleaned before the children woke the next morning and saw it but didn't push the issue to keep Emily from feeling guilty for causing it.

Jefferson Davis rubbed his chin. "What about Sarah?" he asked. "Are there any Joneses in the Knox or Taylor family trees?"

Mrs. Davis stood and grabbed the bible of her husband's deceased wife. "There is only one way to find out," she said, flipping open the cover of the bible and scanning the list of names.

Emily watched and adjusted her clothes. After explaining that she planned to return to her hotel where her adopted family, the Goodmans, was staying, the servants had to find her a new shirt and jacket to replace the blood-soaked ones. Fortunately, the servants were able to find clothes that were the same sizes and colors as Papa Goodman's clothing. The only thing she could do now is hope that he didn't notice any difference.

Heat poured over her face as she remembered how surprised she had been when she changed clothes. Instead of finding a gaping, open wound where the bullet had exited her chest, she had found only a red but nearly healed, slightly irregular, circular mark. _I __wonder if I'll __scar,_ she mused as she absentmindedly touched the spot where the bullet hole had been.

Mrs. Davis finished reading the list and sighed. She looked at Emily and shut the bible. "I am sure there is one in there somewhere," she stated, replacing the book to its shelf. "So we will just say that you are Jefferson's cousin and that you thought he was your uncle because of the age difference."

"I will have one of my men take you back to your hotel; you need to return before someone checks on you," Mr. Davis said. The words had no sooner left his mouth when they heard a knock at the door. A servant brought Papa Goodman's letter informing the President of his niece's arrival.

The President scanned the contents and then wrote a reply. "I'll see you tomorrow morning after breakfast," he told Emily as he sealed the letter and handed it back to the servant. "Wait 30 minutes and then give the courier this letter," he told the servant.

He glanced over at Emily. "We had better give you our fastest carriage."

* * *

"This quite extraordinary," George Goodman said, sipping the coffee he'd been offered and then glancing at President and Mrs. Davis. "You are sure you don't mind her living with you?"

President Davis nodded. "I was devastated when I had heard that my dear cousins had died in the earthquake in January, so you can imagine my delight at receiving your letter last night." He glanced over at Emily and smiled. "I do not want to part with her now that my dear cousin Emily is here."

Mrs. Davis leaned close to her husband. "You are playing it a little too dramatically, dear," Emily heard her say quietly to him.

Not hearing this scold, George stood and extended his hand. "Well then, I suppose we will leave her in your care." Mr. Davis grasped his hand and shook it with vigor.

"Thank you," Mrs. Davis said, smiling gently. "We will take good care of her. You may send her things as soon as you are able."

"We'll also compensate you for bringing her here," President Davis said, reaching for his billfold.

Helen Goodman held up her hand. "That won't be necessary," she stated. She walked over to Emily to reach up and gently stroke her cheek. She smiled her. "I rather think of dear Emily as my own daughter, and though we'll miss her, she should be with her own kin." Her eyes started to tear up.

Emily's eyes stung in response, and she tightly clasped the other woman's hand.

Helen wiped away a tear and let out an embarrassed laugh. "I don't know what's wrong with me. You'll always be family to us," she said, leaning over and kissing Emily lightly on the cheek. "Come visit us anytime, dear one."

"Thank you," Emily said, grabbing Helen by the shoulders and pulling her into a hug. The other woman let out a sound of surprise but then returned the embrace. She was quickly joined by George and Anna, and the family held each other for a few minutes before releasing the group hug. George and President Davis left the drawing room ahead of the others, discussing how to get Emily's clothes and little trunk to her.

"Goodbye, Emily," Anna called, waving to her as the Goodman family rode down the drive and away from the Jefferson home.

"You are blessed to have such a kind 'family'," Mrs. Davis said as she waved to them.

Emily looked at her and lowered her raised hand. A warm tear trickled down her cheek. She wiped it away and let out a sigh. "Yes, I am very lucky that all my family members have been kind to me." _Including Dorothea, and Al—_ Emily stopped herself before she finished her thought and shook her head as if trying to dislodge the pain of Alfred's memory from it. It still hurt that he'd forgotten all about her.

Mrs. Davis raised an eyebrow, unable to understand what Emily meant.

"I also feel fortunate that you're allowing me to stay here," Emily stated, not letting the other woman puzzle over her words for too long. "Thank you for your kindness, Mrs. Davis."

The other woman shook her head and held up her hand. "Think nothing of it," she said. "It's the least that I can do for my nation." She smiled at Emily. "Also, please call me Varina. 'Mrs. Davis' sounds so stuffy coming from 'family'." She let out a small chuckle at this statement.

Emily laughed in return. "As you wish, Varina."

Varina nodded and then turned towards the house, motioning for Emily to follow. "Now let's get you settled in one of our spare rooms upstairs."

* * *

"As the representative of our nation, do you know about everything that has happened? Why we seceded?" President Davis asked that evening after supper as the he and Emily sat in the study.

Emily's stomach clenched. _How would I know anything __about that__? I've been asleep all this time._ "I only know what I've read in the papers; other than that I . . ." Suddenly she became dizzy, almost like the light-headedness felt before sleep. Images and emotions began to flood her mind. "Wait, no, I do," she said, looking at him. "There has been a lot of resentment built up in the North toward the South. I can feel tremors of that from some supporters who are now here in the Confederacy."

Jefferson Davis nodded. "The North has resented for years that majority of our first presidents were Southerners, most of them Virginians. Although I do not understand why that should matter; they served their country well, did they not?"

"I also get the impression that the government frequently seems to support the North more than the South," Emily continued.

"Yes, exactly!" President Davis ardently agreed. "All the domestic improvements the government has made—to expand and develop roads, harbors, canals, and so on—they benefit the _North_ and its interests more than the South and its welfare."

"I understand that for several decades now, the North has been placing many tariffs and taxes on the South's imports, exports, and other goods," Emily said, sifting through the impressions and images floating in her head, "and at one point, South Carolina threatened to secede as a result of those tariffs."

"Yes, the government used warships to squelch the state's complaint," President Davis replied. He stood and leaned against the fireplace mantle. "It is akin to taxation without representation. Lincoln and the North are no better than the King of England during Revolutionary times!" he said vehemently, glaring into the fire. "He has given us no choice but to start this new revolution against Northern tyranny."

He looked at Emily. "And the hypocrisy. . .the Northern abolitionists actually proposed that to resolve the slave issue the Northern states should secede from _us _Southerners," President Davis said, "and yet, they have the audacity to tell us that we do not have the right to do the same."

"Those same abolitionists want to paint us all as degenerates, brutal lash-wielding torturers and heartless family separators," he continued, turning back to stare at the fire. "But nothing could be farther from the truth. Most Southerners do not even own slaves or plantations; they are farmers who work their farms with their families, or they are business owners doing their best to make ends meet."

He sighed and shook his head. "Those who do own slaves treat them well. They take care of their clothing, medicine, feeding and housing from birth until death, in sickness and in health. I've been to the North where the supposed 'freemen' live. Instead of the comfort and kindness they receive in the South, instead of being happy and useful, they are, with few exceptions, miserable, degraded, filling the penitentiaries and poor-houses, objects of scorn, excluded in some places from the schools, and deprived of many other privileges and benefits which attach to the white men among whom they live."

President Davis picked up the fire iron and stirred up the flames a little. "But that's not the worst of it," he continued. "Northerners and abolitionists alike have filled the world with radical ideas, convincing preachers and good church-going people to free their slaves and to encourage the slaves who are not free to revolt and leave their masters. They are trying to stir up a slave rebellion. Surely, you know what would occur if such a thing happened." He slammed the fire iron into its rack with a "clang".

The images of murderous slave revolts that had occurred in Haiti, Jamaica, Louisiana, the Nat Turner slave uprising in Virginia in 1831, and more recently, John Brown's raid on Harper's Ferry, came into Emily's mind as if someone was showing pictures of each of them to her. "People are worried more people will die or there will be riots, destruction, and chaos if all the slaves go free," Emily said finally, closing her eyes and shaking her head in a futile attempt to throw off the images in her mind.

President Davis nodded. "I would like to believe that slaves are harmless but those attacks have proved they are capable of atrocities, like any other ungoverned people might be."

"I don't understand. Has no one tried to address all these concerns with the government using methods other than seceding or fighting?" Emily asked.

"We did try," President Davis replied with a heavy sigh. "On more than one occasion we have tried to settle this whole affair without violence by sending emissaries to the government. Just this March, I sent peace commissioners to Washington DC with an offer to pay for all Federal property in the South and to take on the Southern portion of the national debt."

President Davis sat down near the fire and clasped his hands in front of him, clenching them so tightly his knuckles turned white. "But Lincoln refused even to acknowledge them, leaving us with no way to resolve our conflicts by peaceful means," he concluded. "Lincoln sent a message that the Southern states must return to the Union and unless we did so, or unless he relinquished the forts and tariffs, there is no alternative than for us to fight." He took several breaths in an effort to calm himself.

"And war is the only solution now," Emily concluded, adding a sigh to his previous one.

"We don't want war, but it appears we have been left no other choice," President Davis said, looking at her. "The United States government seems determined to deny us the ability to grow economically, to feel safe in our homes, and to maintain our lifestyle and our independence the way we want. They are bent on dictating to us how we should behave. None of us feel hostile toward anyone in the Union, but it is our high and solemn duty to defend and protect the rights we inherited from our forefathers. It looks like we must tread in their previous Revolutionary path to proclaim our independence for ourselves and our children."

Emily's heart thudded in her chest as she wondered how to reply, but President Davis spoke before she could say anything.

"You said this 'Alfred Jones' is the representative of the United States," he continued with an expression of hope on his face. "Do you think _he_ might be able to convince Lincoln to let our nation go without any more blood than has already been shed?"

Emily swallowed, trying to get rid of the dryness in her throat. "I can write to him and find out," she suggested. "Alfred might be able to convince Lincoln or someone who represents him to at least meet with some of our peace commissioners."

President Davis nodded. "Do it then. Write him and ascertain what you can from him."

* * *

Emily sat down at a writing desk that evening with a heavy heart. _Not a single one of my letters has ever been replied to. _She frowned and rubbed her chin. _Perhaps__ the reason Alfred __has never__ contacted __me__ before this was al__l of __my__ letters __were__ addressed directly to __him? Maybe they never reached him __because of that_?

She quickly created an envelope and addressed it to the assistant secretary to Secretary of State, William Seward, instead of Alfred Jones. Emily wrote a letter politely asking whomever received and read the letter to ask members of the President's staff and cabinet if there was anyone in the White House who recognized the name "Carolina Jones". She then requested that a separate letter enclosed with the one sent to the secretary be handed to that person.

"Alfred, I'm writing you as the representative of the Confederate States of America, and I respectfully request a meeting with you," she wrote in this separate letter, hoping the underlined word would hint at what she was. "Let's arrange to meet on neutral ground so that we can discuss the recognition of the Confederacy as a new nation. Or at least, so that we can come to an understanding of one another."

As she wrote, she found herself transported back to that little room in their old home. To practice her reading and writing skills, Alfred had suggested that they write fake letters to each other, telling one another secrets, weird thoughts, funny ideas, or just about how their day had gone. More than once, they would end up rolling on the floor laughing about the things they had written. Caught up in the happy memory, she unconsciously closed the letter with "Carolina Jones"_._ Emily paused and stared at the name.

_I should sign it differently, _she thought.

She reached for another sheet of paper to rewrite the letter but then paused and looked at the signature again. She shook her head. _This is Providence intervening__, _she told herself._ I__f I __signed __with __another __name__, Alfred mightn't recognize me. He doesn't know me as Emily and signing it as the Confederacy __actually might get him in trouble or might get this letter confiscated if he isn't allowed to read it privately._

With that in mind, she sealed the letter, and then put it inside the envelope with the letter addressed to the assistant secretary. _Surely Alfred will have no problem talking to **me** about the Confederate government and people's desire to be a free, independent nation,_ she mused. _Then we won't have to fight; we can be friends again._

A little more two weeks later, she received a reply addressed to "C. Jones". Emily held the letter in her hands, unable to believe that Alfred had actually replied to her. She glanced at the return address, and her heart jumped to her throat with excitement. The addressee had written only "A.F.J.", but she recognized instantly Alfred's old-fashioned and beautiful handwriting from all the practice letters she had kept in her little trunk and had read and reread many times. Her breathing matched her heartbeat as she opened the letter to read its contents. As she read, her happiness in receiving his reply quickly disappeared.

"As the President has said before," Alfred had written, "Secession is illegal and your troops' use of force against the Federal Government is rebellion and treason against the United States."

Emily's mouth became dry and her stomach clenched. _What? __Illegal? Treason? __We__'re a separate country now, how could we be committing treason?_

"My boss, Mr. Lincoln," his letter continued, "will not be recognizing the Confederate States' secession as valid or the Confederacy as a legal entity. No one will be meeting with you or anyone 'representing' your government or your States."

Emily's eyes stung. _This isn't the Alfred I know. Where is this discourte__ous tone__ coming from?_ Her stomach started to hurt when she noticed there was a postscript at the bottom of the "official" part of the letter.

"Finally, I have a few words to say on a more personal note," Alfred had continued in his letter. "How dare you use the memory of Carolina in such a manner! How dare you even feel you have the right to invoke her name! I don't know how you found out about my past but using the dead in such a manner is in poor taste. If you were hoping to use the thought of losing more loved ones as motivation to provoke me into meeting with you privately, you have failed."

Emily inhaled a sharp breath and waved her hand in front of her face to cool down the burning sensation she was now experiencing there. _This __definitely __is __not__ the Alfred I know at all . . . such__ animosity and anger __. . __._ She let out the breath and hugged herself, crumpling the letter slightly, as she took deep breaths to push away the emotional response his missive had caused. _Where is it all coming from?_

She looked toward the ceiling of the room she was in, trying her best to blink away the wetness she noticed forming in her eyes. _I suppose I was naive in thinking this might work. But I don't understand. __Lincoln and __Alfred__ won't recognize me . . . But I'm right here . . . and I know I am a nation, that I am the Confederacy! What do I have to do? Show them I am real? _

She choked out a laugh at that thought. _That's not a bad idea actually._ Suddenly something occurred to her that she hadn't realized upon her first reading of the letter. With hands trembling, she forced aside the pain she was feeling to reread the last part of the letter.

Emily's heart leaped again to her throat as she reread the words "using the dead in such a manner". _Alfred thinks I'm dead?_ she mused. _How on earth did he come to that conclusion?_

The idea she had sarcastically put aside suddenly didn't seem so ludicrous. She marched out of the room, holding the letter. "Mr. President, I have some important news," she stated as she entered his study.

"What is it?" President Davis asked, looking up. He noticed the letter and nodded toward it. "Is that a reply? It's good news I hope."

Emily forced herself to smile. "Yes, actually," she said, almost choking on the words. Her throat ached, causing her to cough and cover her mouth to avoid being rude. _If I can just meet with Alfred face-to-face, he'll see I'm not dead and listen to what I have to say_, she mused. "Alfred says he wants to meet me right away . . . in secret, of course," she said instead. Her throat burned as if a thousand flames were dancing up and down it. "He still needs to convince Lincoln to listen, but he wanted to get things settled on our side first."

"This is excellent news," President Davis exclaimed, grabbing some stationary. He started composing a letter.

Emily, uncertain of what was going on, fidgeted and moved one arm across her body to hold onto her other arm. "Sir? Boss?"

"I beg your pardon, Emily," he said as he stood, folding the letter and then sealing it. "I got so excited I didn't think to explain what I was doing." He held out the letter to her. "This letter will introduce you to a friend who lives in Alexandria. I will also write a letter for this friend to help him introduce you to someone in Washington who will be able to provide you with a place to meet where you won't rouse the suspicions of others."

Her face grew hot, embarrassed that her lie had been believed. She took the letter and forced another smile. "Thank you, sir."

Jefferson Davis shook his head. "I should be thanking you. You've managed to make headway where none of my previous ambassadors have been able to." He picked up the bell on his desk and rang it. "Now we'll need to get you some proper traveling clothes and some frocks for meeting the upper class of Washington."

"Sir, I'm sure that will be too much expense for someone like me," Emily protested.

Mr. Davis held up his hand, stopping her. "I will allow no objections. You'll go like a proper emissary . . ." He paused for a moment. ". . . but as quietly as possible of course." He let out a small laugh.

Emily choked out a small laugh as well. "As you wish sir."

The next day was a whirlwind as Varina prepared Emily for her trip. Finally, after all the preparations were finished, Emily was set to be taken by a small unassuming carriage to a home just outside of Washington where she would get dressed in a fashion that wouldn't attract attention and then go with Jefferson Davis's friend to the liaison who would help her meet Alfred.

During those preparations, every time the plan was mentioned, Emily cringed internally. She couldn't figure out a way to tell the President that Alfred's invitation was all a lie without destroying all confidence he had in her. _I'll__ work something out once I get there __and Alfred meets me. Then it won't be a lie,_ she rationalized to herself.

"I don't know how long it will take to get things worked out," she told the President as she climbed into the carriage. "I promise to write to you often to keep you notified of my progress."

"I'll send my personal courier and he'll go to a secure telegraph station," Mr. Davis stated. "That way the messages won't get intercepted by Union spies."

Emily nodded and then turned to Varina. "Are you sure I can't convince you to keep that dress you're sending with me? I know from the servants that it's your best silk frock from France and those are so difficult to get here."

Varina shook her head. "It looks quite fetching on you," she said. "I think of it as my doing my part to have my country's representative look her best." She smiled. "Besides, once we settle everything, I'll be able to buy more like it again."

_If we get things settled,_ Emily thought, biting her lip. "I'll do my best for you and my people. Thank you again for all you've done," she said instead.

President Davis signaled to one of his bodyguards, who was playing the role of her coach driver, and they started toward the United States' capital.

_I hope you've overcome your fear of ghosts, Alfred,_ she thought as she settled back into her seat. _Because __according to you,__ I __**a**__**m**__ one._

* * *

**A/N**

**Translations:**

**The self-hugging and the one-arm cross maneuver Emily did are non-verbal signs of distress or discomfort. **

**The discomfort in her throat is what happens to a lot of people when they lie and feel guilty for it.**

**Please note: as I said in Ch. 2, _this is a fictional story; I do not support slavery of any kind_ nor am I condoning what slave-holding farmers/plantation owners did to their slaves. **

**History time!**

**My state—had it been around when the Civil War happened—would have been a Northern state. So my school taught us that the war was fought because of slavery. But that's not the truth, well, not the complete truth anyway. From my research, I've concluded that the primary causes of the war were economics and states' rights. Slavery was a part of those reasons, but it was _not_ the reason the South seceded or why its citizens fought. I mentioned most of the reasons for secession in the fic, but in a fiction medium, it's sometimes difficult to present _all_ of the information in a way that is still interesting or entertaining to read. **

**So I'm going to give some more information here about the history/reasons for secession. That said, I'm only going to cover the factual info briefly; please take the time to thoroughly research the causes of the Civil War yourselves. ^_^ Most sources will say "slavery was the cause", but I have no doubt you will come to the conclusions I did: the more I researched, the more I believe slavery was a cause of the war, but it wasn't the _primary__ cause_ as we are taught in school (remember, history books are often written from the victor's point of view).**

**First, one reason for the war was because of tariffs and taxes lobbied against the South. The Congress at that time heavily favored the industrialized Northern states to the point of demanding that the South sell its cotton and other raw materials only to the factories in the North rather than to other countries. They also heavily taxed the finished materials that the Northern industries produced, making finished products that the South wanted expensive. Some Southerners felt they shouldn't have to pay the tariffs/taxes, which set the stage for the states' rights dispute, pitting state laws against the notion of federal sovereignty. As one research source said, "If the Northern States and their representatives in Congress had only listened to the problems of the South and stopped practices that were almost like the taxation without representation of Great Britain, then the Southern states would not have seceded and the war would not have occurred."**

**Next, other than this economic reason, the war began because the Southerners requested states' rights and were not getting them. Majority of the Southerners who fought were non-slave-holding farmers who were fighting for their rights. They wanted to control what they did with their lives, property, and independence without the government telling them what to do. **

**As for the slavery part of the issue, slavery was an integral part of the economic system of the Southern plantations, and because of that, it was a main economic reason why the South formed the Confederacy. As I said above, the economic issue was about taxation, and it was about being able to sell cotton and other raw materials where the Southern farmers and planters wanted to rather than where they were _forced_ to and at under-inflated prices. **

**Slavery might have died out on its own eventually, but when the cotton gin made it easier to grow cotton, slavery went from being a "necessary evil" to a "positive good". And then the South got caught in a rut: Sell cotton to buy slaves—use those slaves to grow more cotton to sell and buy more slaves to grow more cotton—repeat until the end of time. This absurd routine of theirs then plunged their society even deeper into an agrarian-based economy. They focused so much on King Cotton that the Southerners neglected to industrialize more and build enough manufacturing plants to build their economy to a point where they could sustain themselves. This in turn forced Southern citizens to buy from either the North or from Europe, and both practices had become expensive due to the tariffs/taxes. **

**The Southerners were within their rights regarding their economic reasons for being upset at the North and Congress, but there were alternatives to seceding and fighting. I could not put it more eloquently than one of my researched sources did: "If the South had been willing to listen to Abraham Lincoln, perhaps the war could have been avoided. Lincoln had a plan to gradually free the slaves without it further hurting the plantation owners. He also had a plan to allow them to sell their products anywhere they wanted to and at a fair price." But they weren't willing to listen, and as a result, seceded and started the war.**

**Finally, I think that literature and media of the day played their part in pushing both sides into the war (that's right: I'm not going to let the press play the innocent here). The Southern press relied on sensationalism, making Lincoln in words and cartoons look like an arch-abolitionist—a kind of antichrist who would turn the slaves loose to rape, murder, and pillage. The Southern press and its editors did nothing to calm any of their readers' fears, which explains why only one in three Confederate soldiers were slaveholders or came from slave-holding families. It wasn't their slaves they were defending; it was their homes against the specter of slaves-gone-wild. Many educated and wealthy Southerners feared what would happen if the war did not end in their favor, but even they ended up getting swept along on the tide of anti-Washington, anti-abolition, anti-Northern and anti-Lincoln rhetoric.**

**While they weren't as bad as the South, the Northern press needs to accept its share of blame for antagonizing Southerners by damning and lampooning the entire Southern populace as brutal and heartless slave-owners. This portrayal caused disgust and distrust of the North that I think still exists, in some part, today (I could be wrong; it just seems like a lot of sports rivalries have a North vs. South feel to them). On both sides, some of that mistrust was deserved. The Northern and Southern media had done their share of spreading hatred, recrimination, and outrageous statements and accusations on both sides.**

**Essentially both sides of the issue believed that if they gave into the other without a fight, they would be forced to accept a future that they didn't want. For the Confederacy, freeing all the slaves would have ruined fortunes, wrecked the Southern economy, and left the South to contend with millions of freed blacks. Also, all the things that the North had done to the South over the years had convinced most Southerners that the interests of the two sections of the country had drifted apart and that staying together was no longer mutual or worthwhile. For the Union, the immediate cause of the war was Lincoln's determination not to allow the South leave peacefully; doing so would have severely weakened, if not destroyed, the United States (something that most politicians in European nations were hoping for with bated breath). So for the North, the fighting was about more than abolishing the institution of slavery. They were fighting to preserve the United States, to maintain freedom, and to protect the rights of the individual, the very tenets upon which this country was founded.**

**I've done my best to keep this summary brief (yes, this is the brief version). Even after several readings, I still think this summary feels like a big, tangled mess, but IMHO it's that way not b/c I couldn't present it properly; it's that way because the reasons behind the Civil War _were_ a big tangled mess. **

**On a side note, I hope you'll forgive and/or understand President Davis's misinformed and racist notions regarding slavery: he was the product of the misguided notions of many Southern elite; he couldn't help himself. (And yes, some of the things he said I paraphrased/quoted from his own writings about the issues of the time). **

**It's interesting to note**** that t****he misinformed ****and ****misguided notions of the Southern elite ****were**** that they were doing the slaves a favor by feeding, clothing and caring for them. They honestly believed that ****their ****slaves were happy working for them and being with them and didn't ****understand why ****those ****slaves fled. ****The Southern slave-holders**** just didn't understand that w****hile it is true that people are happiest when busy and useful, it's not the same when that work is forced on that people without any pay or adequate and fair compensation (****btw ****clothes, food, shelter, and protection is how the slave-holders justified not paying their slaves...they were totally wrong, of course, but that doesn't change ****the fact that they believed with all their hearts and minds that they were being honorable and just****). **

**Too often in Civil War portrayals, I see the same scenario that my character of President Davis was complaining about: the Southerners are portrayed as cold-hearted, lash-weilding, ignorant sadists ****and ****rapists whereas those on the ****U****nion side are portrayed as saints who support the "all humans are created equal"**** idealism**** of our modern times and ****endorsed**** the notion that ****all**** slaves should go free. ****I'm not condoning what the Southern slave-holders did, but I don't think it's fair to portray the is****sue so black-and-white as ****that****.**

**Fact: like Southerners, quite a few Northerners believed that blacks were an inferior race. Fact: ****In 1860, ****there ****were ****slaves in almost every state****, Confederate ****and**** Union. Fact: the Union Army used freed slaves to do the heavy**** work ****they didn't want to do****, ****and, in some cases, treated the freed slaves worse than the slaves working with the Confederate Army. ****Fact: some Northerners wanted the slaves freed ****NOT**** because it was the right thing to do but because they knew it would help the Union win the war if the South lost its free labor force (with the slaves working in the fields, it freed up the whites to go fight).**

**I guess what I'm ****tr****ying ****to say ****is the issue isn't as ****simple ****as people ****have been taught or believe****. Both sides had shades of gray when it came to this issue. ****There isn't a side that is free from hypocrisy or the stigma of slavery. For many Federals, ****the war**** was about keeping the Union together or protecting their homes and families from the rebels. Many Union soldiers would have left the army and refused to fight if they had been told they were fighting for the slaves; they ****were honorable men, but they ****weren't **_**that**_** noble. ****Risking life and limb for a slave was not something many of the soldiers wanted to do or believed was right****. Finally, while I think that slavery is the worst ****and most reprehensible ****thing a person can do to another person, I also think it's unfair to portray the Confederacy as the ****evil**** villain and the Union as the ****noble ****hero; ****it wasn't like that and ****that's simplifying things too much.**


	4. Roses Smooth Out Any Misunderstanding

**A/N After a lengthy discussion with a reader (and fellow writer), I came to the conclusion that, in a rush to get the next chapter out and move towards the plot-point I wanted to write the most about, I neglected not only Emily's motivations for her behavior, but also the Confederacy's motivations for seceding. **

**If you read the previous Ch. 3, "The Truth Behind the Masks We Wear", you'll need to go back to Ch. 3 to read the new Chapter 3 (otherwise you might be lost/confused where this chapter came from)**

**I started writing these motivations thinking it was only going to take one chapter to explain/write, but it has blossomed into more than that. The new chapters are the result of 3 month's worth of research, writing, and rewriting. I have two hopes from submitting these chapters: that you like what you read and that they establish the motivations behind one of my main characters more clearly.**

* * *

**Ch. 4—A Rose Can Smooth Out Any Misunderstanding, Right?**

Emily rubbed her neck as she rode in the carriage toward Washington DC. Even though Jefferson Davis's friend gave her dinner and an evening to rest before they headed for the city, she hadn't quite recovered from the trip: it had taken nearly a week by train to get to Fredericksburg—because she stopped to rest overnight and then to visit to the Goodmans on her way north—and then it had been a 12-hour carriage ride with several change-overs just to get from there to Alexandria. Fortunately, this last leg of the trip would only take 2 hours, 4 hours at the most.

"So my husband mentioned that you are going to the city to meet someone pretty important. May I ask who it is?" Mrs. Johnson, the wife of President Davis's friend, asked with an eager expression on her face. "Perhaps I've heard of him."

Emily shot a dirty look at Mr. Johnson; he cringed and pulled at his collar. "I doubt that you know him," she lied. "He may work in Washington, but he's not that important."

Mrs. Johnson laughed. "I don't believe you," she said. "He has to be an elite member of Washington's social circle or high up in the military if you need Wild Rose to meet him."

"Now darling," Mr. Johnson said, touching his wife on the arm. "That's not polite to call her that."

Emily furrowed her brow. "Wild Rose? What are you talking about?"

Mrs. Johnson's mouth dropped open. "Don't tell me you haven't heard of Mrs. Rose O'Neal Greenhow+, widow of influential statesman Robert Greenhow and one of the leading members of the Washington aristocracy?"

"Oh. Of course. Mrs. Rose Greenhow," Emily fibbed. "I just had never heard of her referred to by that name. My cousin doesn't use nicknames for close friends."

Mrs. Johnson pursed her lips. "I see. Well, then, I hope I didn't offend you."

"No, not at all," Emily said, smiling.

"Hmm," Mrs. Johnson murmured and looked out the window. Then for the next 40 minutes, she didn't say a word to Emily, which Mr. Johnson happily declared to the silent pair was an event that hardly ever happened.

* * *

"Ah, so _you _are Emily," Mrs. Greenhow said after reading the letter President Davis had given to Emily to give to her. She waved the letter in the air. "My dear friend, 'Jefferson Brown', here has told me all about you in his previous letters to me." She smiled and embraced Emily. "Welcome, dear child."

She turned toward the Johnsons. "He used to live in Virginia. We knew each other through my darling Robert—God rest his soul," Rose told them. They nodded, seemingly unable to reply.

A servant came into the room and nodded to her. "Ah, it appears everything is ready for us now. Would you like to enjoy some refreshment in my drawing room?" she asked. "I've prepared an early lunch for you because I assumed you didn't stop anywhere to eat."

"Th-th-thank you, Mrs. Greenhow; that would be lovely," Mrs. Johnson stuttered.

Mrs. Greenhow motioned for them to follow her servant and then looped arms with Emily. "We must get better acquainted, my dear," she said to her as they walked toward the drawing room behind the Johnsons. "After your stay with me, I'll need you to take some correspondence to your dear cousin. The Union mail is so unreliable these days."

"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Greenhow," Mrs. Johnson said, stopping and turning around, "I believe I misheard you just now. You said the young lady was _staying_ with you? Surely you meant she was going to be _visiting_ with you." She gestured toward herself. "Miss Emily is staying with us."

Rose Greenhow didn't miss a beat. "It's not polite to eavesdrop on others, Mrs. Johnson, but no, I meant staying," she replied. "I'm taking the young lady out of your hands and into my charge. Her cousin's letter was very specific about that point."

Mrs. Johnson paled. "O-o-of course. Thank you for your hospitality and generosity."

"Think nothing of it," Rose Greenhow replied and the group continued into the drawing room.

"You mustn't play this off as if it's nothing," Emily stated. "I am indeed grateful to you for your help, Mrs. Greenhow."

Their hostess patted Emily on the arm as they walked into the drawing room. "Call me Rose, dear," she said. "The beloved ward of my dearest friend shouldn't have to be so formal."

Mr. and Mrs. Johnson paled further, but said nothing as they sat down and were served.

"If you insist, Rose," Emily replied. "Although, I feel awkward calling my elder by her Christian name. I am only in my sixteenth year, and you must be—"

"Emily, Emily," Rose scolded, shaking her head. "I feel as though I know you like my own kin. Such formalities are nonexistent for kindred spirits. Age means nothing between us." She leaned over and embraced Emily again for a moment and then released her. "Now, please have some food, dear."

* * *

After the Johnsons had left with a promise to send along Emily's clothes, Rose guided her to one of her spare rooms. "We should get right to the heart of the matter," she said, taking out some nightclothes from a chest of drawers.

"The heart of the matter?" Emily asked, still reeling from not knowing President Davis's plan in its entirety.

"Let me help you get changed, dear," Rose said, not answering her question. "You look exhausted from your trip. I suspect those rude Joneses or whatever their names were didn't even let you rest for more than an evening, even though you came all the way from Montgomery. Am I correct?"

Emily nodded. "They said there wasn't time and that they were anxious to get me here."

Rose guided Emily to turn around so she could start undoing the buttons on the back of Emily's dress. "Actually, they were anxious to meet _me_," she countered. "I know social climbers when I see them." She tsked at the thought. "Oh I'm sure they're in support of the Confederacy, but I can tell the difference between eagerness to get ahead in your social class and eagerness to help your Southern friends."

"But never mind them. Who is this Alfred Jones that Mr. Davis mentioned in the letter?" she asked as she continued undoing the buttons.

"He's someone I knew when I was younger," Emily explained, trying to be both specific and vague at the same time. "His guardian—his older adopted brother, Arthur—had a government occupation that took them both away from South Carolina, and I was forced to stay behind." She mentally shook away the dread that remembering her mysterious sleeping spells caused her to feel.

Rose didn't say a word; she just helped Emily slip out of her dress bodice and then her skirt. "If you are so well-acquainted that you consider each other childhood friends, why do you need my help?" she finally asked.

Emily's face grew warm. _She's sharp, _she mused. _If I lie, I'm sure she'll be able to tell._ "To be honest, we drifted apart years ago and I lost contact with him," she replied. "I don't know where to find him. I had an idea where he might be, however: Alfred loved his older brother, and I know that he planned to follow in his footsteps and work for the government."

Emily shrugged. "I have no doubt he fulfilled that dream, so he would be here, living in Washington," she continued. "But the problem is I don't know how to find him, and the new circumstances with my cousin Jefferson being President of the Confederacy would make it dangerous for me to come here with him or contact Alfred on my own. That is why I came here under a pseudonym and needed someone's help who had connections to the people and to the government but who wouldn't betray my cousin when he or she discovered who he was."

"I see," Rose said, her voice showing nothing that Emily could interpret from its tone. She untied Emily's hoop skirt and then helped her out of her petticoats."So if you drifted apart years ago, why did you decide to make up now, especially since you both seem to be moving in opposite directions?"

Emily suppressed a smile. Telling the truth made more sense than lying, and it would be easier to remember. "It's because of the recent unpleasantness—the war," she said. "Alfred loves his country and no doubt has already joined the military. If he goes into battle, I may never have another chance to talk with him before the war ends. We have differing opinions regarding this whole affair. I was hoping that, with your help, we might be able reconcile those differences."

Rose let out a small laugh. "I can completely empathize with you. It's crucial to talk about the important things before it's too late." She started loosening the laces on Emily's corset. "I regret not saying everything to my dear Robert that I could have before returning home to have my youngest." She loosened the last of the laces and lifted the corset over Emily's head, then set it aside.

She picked up the nightgown she'd taken out of the chest earlier. "Robert stayed behind in San Francisco," Rose continued. "He was walking down the street on a plank sidewalk and slipped . . . fell six feet straight down onto the street below."

Emily turned to listen to her quietly, only slightly noticing the cool evening air as she stood there in only her chemise and drawers. She rubbed her shoulders but said nothing. The heat from her hands was enough for the moment.

"He hurt his leg," Rose said, her eyes distant as she remembered what must have been told to her by others. "He didn't write and tell me because he didn't think he was badly injured, and he didn't want me to worry. He knew I would insist on traveling all the way back to him regardless of it being so soon after childbirth." Tears edged her eyes. "He worried about me instead of himself. He died without ever meeting our Little Rose."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Emily said finally.

Rose let out a quiet laugh tinged with tangible pain and sadness. "It's been 6 years," she replied. "The pain lessens . . . but it lessens oh so slowly." She then noticed Emily was shivering a little from the cool spring air. "Oh my dear girl, I'm sorry. Here I am reminiscing and you're freezing in your underthings." She quickly slipped the nightgown over Emily's head.

"It's all right," Emily said as she adjusted the sleeves and neckline.

"No it's not," Rose countered. "I should not have neglected my guest." She started digging through a trunk and then pulled out a shawl, which she wrapped around Emily's shoulders.

"Thank you," Emily said, pulling the shawl closer. "Honestly, though, I didn't feel neglected. You have suffered far more than my getting a little chilled. To lose the love of your life and for your children to lose their father at such a young age—"

"It's not the first time I've lost a man who was important to me," Rose interrupted, taking Emily by the hand and guiding the nation over to a vanity. She pushed Emily lightly on the shoulders to get her to sit in front of the vanity and began pulling out the pins holding up Emily's hairdo.

"I lost my father at a young age," Rose explained. "He was murdered by his Negro manservant." She smoothed out Emily's hair so that it fell around her shoulders and down her back. Rose's eyes had a different look to them than before as she remembered this loss. Emily shivered again, but it was not from the chill of the night air.

"My father was often out drinking and always took his Negro, Jacob, with him," Rose continued, playing absentmindedly with Emily's locks. "The men who found my father didn't tell me much at the time, but I later discovered the truth. The night my father was murdered, he and Jacob had gotten especially drunk. Jacob neglected his duty and let my father wander home on his own." She picked up a hairbrush. "My father fell from his horse and a black old hag told Jacob 'dead men tell no tales'. So following her wicked instructions, that slave picked up a large rock and smashed my father's skull in."

Emily stared. She wasn't sure what to say. _This must be __one of the reasons __why she supports the Confederacy's cause, _she mused. _She knows firsthand the fears __and worries__ many Southerners are feeling._

Rose shook her head and inhaled deeply. "I'm sorry dear. You didn't need to hear such a gruesome tale like that." She patted and rubbed Emily's shoulders as she stood behind her. "I don't know what it is about you, but I seem compelled to tell you all about myself. You make me feel so at ease; I can't explain it."

Emily shrugged. "I don't know why either. You must have needed to share."

"Well, my point of talking about all that was not to make you uncomfortable, but to show you I understood you and your desire to connect with Mr. Jones before it's too late," Rose said.

"Speaking of which," Rose said as she played with the brush in her hand for a moment, "I've never heard of a Mr. Alfred Jones among the names of the young men of note here, but then, his name is not necessarily a unique name either. I'm sure my contacts will find out as much as they can about him as soon as possible."

Rose glanced at their reflections in the vanity mirror and smiled. "Now, let's get you ready for bed and as comfortable as possible."

Emily held out her hand to protest. "Oh you don't bother with—" Rose began brushing her hair, sending a tingling sensation Emily had never felt before throughout her body and causing her to go into a stupor as a result.

Rose noticed her expression."Did your mother never take the time to coddle you like this?"

"No, I have never had a mother," Emily said in a daze. She clapped a hand to her mouth, realizing what she had just confessed might seem suspect. "Well, I-I-I mean, I have been alone since I was a child, so it was like I didn't have parents," she added quickly. "Mama and Papa Goodman are as close as I have come to having parents." She looked up at Rose through the reflection in the mirror, and instead of suspicion, she saw tears edging Rose's eyes.

Rose embraced her from behind. "You poor thing, losing your parents at such a young age!" she said, squeezing her tightly. After a minute of doing so, she stood and started brushing Emily's hair again. "I love coddling my Little Rose like this. I'll be sure to spoil you as much as possible while you're here."

Unable to protest such affection, all Emily could do is thank her.

* * *

"Finding Mr. Jones was not as difficult as I thought it would be," Rose told Emily over brunch the next morning. "One of my ladies knows a lady who knows a gentleman who knows someone he associates with. Ah, the benefits of having a social network!" She smiled at Emily. "Now all we have to do is persuade him to meet with us, which I don't think will be too difficult. Many high-ranking officers and government officials often visit my home. If his connections are as you say—with the Washington elite—it should be easy to convince him to meet with you here in my drawing room. What do you plan to do once you meet him?"

"I hope to convince him to help with the cause of the South," Emily replied, hoping that would be a sufficient enough answer without going into detail.

"Ah, just like my dear Captain Jordan," Rose said, nodding thoughtfully. She took a bite of her toast and smiled. "We'll have to make sure you look your best when he visits."

"Look my best?" Emily replied, raising an eyebrow. "Why?"

Rose sent her a sheepish look and set down her toast. "I must confess. This whole thing intrigued me so greatly that I had one of my ladies take me to see him from afar." She held out the plate of toast to Emily who took a slice and bit into it. "I must say you have good taste, my dear: Mr. Jones is quite the handsome one. If I were you, I would get married to him as quickly as possible."

Emily inhaled the bite of toast she'd taken and began to choke on it. Rose patted her on the back for a couple of minutes while she choked and coughed. "I b-b-beg your p-p-pardon?" Emily finally managed to cough out.

Rose rubbed her back one last time, moved away from her, and poured a cup of breakfast tea. "Drink this. It will help your throat," she said as she handed the cup to Emily. She furrowed her brow. "Your reaction confuses me slightly, Emily. The reason you want Alfred to not fight for the North is because you're in love with him and don't want to lose him, correct?"

Tea went sputtering out of Emily's mouth at a second mention of a romantic relationship with Alfred. She apologized for her behavior and did her best to quietly set down the teacup she was holding, but it clattered on the saucer, reflecting how flustered its user was at the moment.

Rose blinked. "I'm perplexed now. My contact told me that Mr. Jones is only 19, a perfect age to be your beau, or at least, I assumed he was your sweetheart. Was I wrong?"

"I-I-I . . . Alfred Jones is a _friend_," Emily managed to stutter out. "He is _not_ my beau."

"But you would like him to be," Rose concluded.

"I never said that!" Emily countered rather loudly. She cringed when she saw Rose cast a look of disdain at her volume.

"That is, when we separated all those years ago, it was as friends. As far as I know, that hasn't changed," Emily continued more quietly, her cheeks tingling with embarrassment.

Rose regarded her for a moment. "Let me see if I understand everything correctly then: you traveled hundreds of miles and used your cousin's connections and influence all because you were afraid your friend was going to die in the war before you had a chance to reconcile with him?"

_Alfred can't die_, Emily replied silently, _but_ _I can't tell __you __that, so . . ._ she nodded and said nothing instead.

Rose sat for a couple of moments and contemplated Emily's silent affirmation. "I see," she replied. She then sent Emily a crooked smile. "Mr. Jones is extremely fortunate to have a _friend_ who loves him as much as you do."

The heat returned to Emily's face from her previous feelings of embarrassment. "I-I am only doing what any good friend would do," she said.

Rose smiled thinly and patted Emily's hand. "Of course, dear," she said. "Well then, let me give you the rest of the information my contacts gathered."

She pulled a handful of folded papers out of a cloth purse she had next to her and unfolded them. She skimmed over the first sheet of paper and then looked up at Emily. "Since you are connected to your dear 'Cousin Jefferson', I knew this must have something to do with the White House, but when I found out who Alfred was, my suspicions were confirmed," Rose began. "I don't know what his occupation is at the White House, but Mr. Jones is definitely close to President Lincoln."

She moved the first sheet to the back of the group and read the next sheet of notes. "He's also one of the more wealthy young men in the area; that is, my contact assumes he's wealthy since he seems to be able to buy whatever he needs or wants without any appearance of distressing over expense."

Rose tapped a finger to her lip. "It's not clear how he obtained his wealth or why he's not more well-known as a result of that wealth. Not one of my contacts seems to know." She furrowed her brow as she contemplated that mystery for a moment.

_Please don't ask me what I know about that,_ Emily begged internally. _I'm not sure I could lie convincingly enough._

Rose shook her head, dismissing the puzzle, and set down her notes for a moment so that she could pour herself and Emily another cup of tea. She moved the second sheet to the back and skimmed over the third sheet of billets. "I have to tell you that you may have your work cut out for you," Rose continued. "Mr. Jones seems to be deeply entrenched as a Lincolnite. One of my sources says he spends a good majority of his time either at the White House or the Capitol Building. This source also says he spends most of his time at the White House in the War office, which is interesting for one so young; I would not think a callow youth could be trusted with such matters."

She looked up from the paper. "I suspect getting him to help with the Southern cause will be nearly impossible. You'll be lucky to even get him to listen to you about the topic." Rose set down the notes and then sipped her tea.

_I know that already,_ Emily moaned internally.

Rose regarded Emily for a moment before setting her teacup onto its saucer. "There is one thing I absolutely must know," she said. "From what I read in your cousin's letter, he seems to think that Mr. Jones was expecting you. But from what you told me last night about him and your reactions now, I know that's not true."

Rose frowned. "Tell me what game you are playing, Emily," she stated with a motherly tone in her voice. "I want the whole truth. Are you a spy like me? What's your real goal in coming here? Why is there such discrepancy between Davis's letter and your words and actions?"

Emily's heart fell at these questions. She looked down at the meal in front of her. _How do I tell her the whole truth?_ she lamented to herself. _I __can't tell her;__ she will think I__'__m lying. I have no choice but to tell her a half-truth._ "You are correct in your suspicions: I didn't tell you everything last night. Cousin Jefferson sent me here as an emissary to meet with Alfred because of his influence in the White House. We hoped that Alfred might be able to make some progress where our peace commissioners could not."

Emily folded her hands in her lap and bit her lip wondering how to continue. _I'm dancing awfully close to the truth about my and Alfred's nature__s__ and role__s_. "I lied to you last night: I didn't need your help to contact Alfred. I knew I could contact him by sending a letter to the White House," she said finally. "A few weeks ago, I wrote to him, and he replied quite vehemently that he had no intention of changing his mind about the war." She played with her hands in her lap. "I wasn't invited here by Alfred; that was a lie I told Cousin Jefferson because I didn't want to disappoint him. I thought that, maybe, if I managed to have a face-to-face meeting with Alfred, I might be able to persuade him to help us resolve the issue peacefully."

Rose's frown changed to a slight smile. "Ah, clever girl," she said. "It's wise to use the gifts God gave you to your advantage."

Emily furrowed her brow. "God's gifts? I don't understand what you're talking about."

Rose said nothing, but instead scooted closer to Emily and cupped her face in her hands. She looked at the nation as if she was studying her.

Emily started at this. "Rose, what are you—"

Rose released Emily's face and then touched her hair. "Yes, we can do something with this to make it quite attractive," Rose said finally, interrupting her and tucking some loose curls back into Emily's loose up-do. She pulled her hands away and inspected Emily's figure. "The rest will be easy," she said, rubbing her chin. "It just a matter of clothing you in the right dress, one that will flatter your figure and tempt the eye."

Emily blinked. "Tempt the eye? How will doing that—?"

"My dear Emily, you've already tried appealing to Alfred's logic with a letter," Rose interrupted again, "and that failed quite spectacularly. So if you want to get his attention, you will need to appeal to his . . ." She gave Emily a once-over again, making the nation's cheeks heat up and tingle at the inspection, ". . . _other_ parts instead," she continued. She paused to take another sip of her tea, closing her eyes and savoring it.

Emily furrowed her brow. _Other parts? _she thought innocently. The heat from her cheeks spread to her entire face. _I must be extremely ignorant because I haven't a slightest idea what she's referring to. __What parts could I possibly appeal to? This portion of the conversation is confusing me tremendously. I need to educate myself about men as soon as I can._

Rose looked up and noticed Emily's blush and set down her cup again. "I-I-I'm talking about his heart and emotions, of course," she said, coloring slightly. "Not—"

"Oh! Yes, I see," Emily replied, interrupting Rose before she could finish. "His heart. Of course!" She let out a giggle to hide her embarrassment at not seeing the obvious answer. _If we can get him to remember what great friends we used to be, maybe he'll want to have that back again and will be willing to listen._ "Yes, that makes perfect sense."

Rose stared at her for a moment and then let out a small laugh. "Well then, let us not waste any time, yes? Once we finish breakfast, I want you to let your cousin know you've settled. His courier arrived this morning and is anxious to send some news back to him." She picked up a strawberry, bit into it, and then after swallowing, continued. "I will start arranging for you two to meet."

"But I still don't understand how you are going to do that, especially now that you know that I came here on the false pretense of being invited and that Alfred does not know I'm here," Emily stated, following her lead by eating a strawberry as well.

"Don't worry about that small detail; as I said last night, I am a most desired acquaintance for most of the Washington elite. Even if they don't care about being affiliated with me, they still want to associate with _my connections_." Rose smiled. "What I've learned about Mr. Jones being wealthy and socially well-connected only works in our favor."

Rose sipped her tea and set the teacup down again. "Now that you have confirmed the suspicions I had last night after I left your room, I need to share with you a little more information. I didn't mention it because it didn't seem relevant at the moment and I was worried some of it might upset you," she said. She moved the third sheet of notes to the back of the collection and quickly scanned the fourth one. "Mr. Jones usually associates with a number of young people who are as attractive as he is. I think it was reported that, while he isn't with all of them at once, these friends of his number about 13 to 15. To put off any suspicions he may have about my invitation, I'll suggest that he bring some friends with him when he visits."

She touched Emily under the chin and smiled. "You'll have to compete with the ladies he affiliates with—there are several, all uncannily alluring I'm told—but once we get you in the right color of gown and your hair in an enchanting style, they won't be any competition at all."

"Competition for what?" Emily asked innocently.

"For making Alfred pay attention only to you, of course! Weren't you listening before?" Rose stated matter-of-factually. "If Alfred brings a lady he is interested in with him, he'll most likely give all of his attention to _her_. We must steal some of that attention; in fact, it wouldn't hurt if you managed to make Alfred believe he's fallen in love with you instead of with her." Rose sent her an incredulous look. "What did you think I meant when I mentioned his heart as our target?"

Emily's face erupted into the warmth she had finally calmed down from before. "I-I-I didn't think you meant that. We were friends once. I thought you meant if I managed to remind him of that friendship, we might—"

"Emily, how do you think I've managed to winkle out secrets from gentlemen all these years?" Rose asked, interrupting the nation's stammering explanation. "By being charming and alluring, by making the man I'm talking to think he is a hair's breadth away from making me fall in love with him," she explained. "An enamored man is a talkative one, especially when he thinks you're captivated by every word he says." She started to fold up her notes. "I'll do my best to instruct you on how to be affectionate and pleasant in a way that men adore and how to act like you're in love even if you're not." She looked at Emily and let out a laugh. "I have a feeling, though, you're going to be either a quick study or a natural at both."

Rose stood and stowed away the papers into her small cloth purse. "I predict we won't have much time for training though. If I manage things just right, I'll have Mr. Jones here by tomorrow evening." She then picked up a small glass bell and rang it. An older woman, with graying dark hair and cream-colored skin, appeared moments later. "Grace, take Miss Emily 'Brown' give her a nice hot bath," she told her servant. "Once you're finished, notify me. We're going to test out several hairstyles and have her try on several gowns until we find a combination that will make her look spectacularly beautiful."

Grace smiled widely. "Yes'm," she said. "This way, Miss," she said to Emily.

Emily followed her into a room where a large metal tub was sitting. "Charity, Chastity!" Grace called. In a couple of minutes, two identical twin maids appeared. They made Emily feel as if two blond-haired, blue-eyed seraphim had descended from heaven to visit. "While I get Miss Brown undressed, you two start filling the tub." The two young women nodded.

"And use some of the Missus's scents," Grace continued, sniffing at Emily's hair and then pulling away. "We need to get rid of this fresh-from-the-road smell." The maids giggled, curtsied and then started their work while Grace guided Emily behind a screen and started unbuttoning at her dress's front bodice buttons.

"What are you doing?!" Emily cried, pulling away from the other woman.

"Taking a bath requires that you remove your clothes, Miss," she said. "Don't tell me you've never bathed?"

"I have," Emily said, her face warm. "I just have never had a servant help me undress for that bath."

"Well while you're Mrs. Greenhow's guest, you'll have us to wait on you," Grace said. "Get used to it and don't fight me on this." With that, she returned to helping Emily remove her clothes.

_What have I gotten myself into?_ Emily groaned internally as she tried to think of something else to distract herself.

* * *

"Stop fidgeting, child. You'll be all right," Rose said as they waited for Alfred and his friends to arrive. As predicted, she had managed to arrange for a dinner with Alfred for the next evening, May 13. He had notified her of his intention to bring 6 others along with him.

Rose gave her a sidelong glance. "Perhaps it will help alleviate your nervousness if we practice again what you're going to say to Mr. Jones once you get a chance to speak with him privately."

Emily clasped her lace-gloved hands together and swallowed, trying to squelch the nausea the thought of speaking to Alfred after so many years caused. "Yes, please."

Rose stood up straight and pressed a hand to her chest. "How do you do, Miss Brown?" she greeted Emily, lowering her voice down to a tenor's and bowing slightly.

Emily tried not to laugh like she had the couple of times they had practiced before this and curtseyed. "It's wonderful to see you again, Alfred."

Rose looked at her and blinked. "I beg your pardon? Have we met before?" she continued in her tenor voice.

"Yes, we have," Emily replied. "Don't you recognize me?"

"I'm afraid I don't," Rose said. The evening before they had gone through the worst-case scenarios, and this was the one that worried Emily the most. Emily had been unable to think of a response and was told to sleep on it.

"It's me," Emily replied, giving the answer she'd managed to come up with. She pointed toward herself by touching her collarbone. "You used to call me 'Caroline'. We knew each other as children, remember?"

Rose gave her a slight smile and raised an eyebrow. "Caroline? I thought you said your name was Emily," she said in her regular voice.

Emily's cheeks grew warm. "Yes, it's my middle name," she lied. "My mother was also Emily, so I was called 'Caroline' instead."

Rose nodded. "I see. Well, if that's what will trigger his memory and open his mind to listening to you, by all means, use it." She gave Emily a once-over. "We've done everything else we could possibly do to hopefully make him notice you, so hopefully something will work to reconcile the two of you."

Rose walked over to Emily and turned her to face the mirror in the hall. "You look like a man's dream come true." She handed Emily a cream-colored fan.

Emily unfolded the fan and admired the roses painted on it. She then looped its silken handle around her wrist and glanced down at the blue-green gown she was wearing. It was an evening dress, so it had a lower-cut neckline than a day-dress would have.

Rose had said that it was perfect for flattering her shapely figure. "It shows off just enough to tempt but not give it all away," Rose had said with a wink.

Emily had conceded that Rose knew more about this kind of thing than she did, but now when she glanced at her reflection in the mirror, she could see that it did more than just "flatter her figure". It clung the top part of her figure in a way that made it look even fuller and curvier than it normally did and showed more skin than she was used to showing off. _I look __like an adult __. . . not as __much__ as Rose or Varina or Mama Goodman, but I look like I'm old enough to be at least 18,_ she mused_. _In reaction to this assessment of herself, Emily saw her peaches-and-cream complexion take on a rosier hue in sync with the tingling in her cheeks.

Even the hairstyle Grace and Rose had chosen made her look older.Most of her amber-colored hair was up, but a few spirals of beautiful curls were arranged so they fell down from the rest of her hair to rest softly on her shoulder and collarbone, and then to touch lightly atop her décolletage as if they were saying, "Hey everyone, look here!" Emily stared at her reflection, and the tingling in her cheeks spread a warm sensation over her entire head.

Rose noticed Emily's flushed expression and leaned in closer. "Yes, you look like you've had your 'coming-out' debut already," she said quietly in her ear, confirming what Emily had thought earlier. "There's no reason any man would suspect you aren't of marrying age." Rose smiled coyly at her. "In fact, I'm counting on that."

She moved away from Emily and pulled a piece of paper out of her purse, glancing at its contents. "Now from the correspondence he sent this morning, we should expect Mr. Jones, right about—" There was a knock at the door interrupting her. She smiled widely. "Now," she finished.

Emily's stomach clenched and she worried about losing her lunch from earlier. She pressed her gloved hands against where her stomach was under her corset, willing it to stay calm and not empty itself right there in the hallway.

Rose noticed this. She reached out and grabbed her hand, giving it a light squeeze. "Don't be so nervous, dear," she said. "You'll be fine; after all, Mr. Jones and you may have lost touch, but you separated as friends, correct?"

Emily gave her a small shrug. "Well, we didn't part as enemies."

"Then he won't snub you at this party," Rose continued. "He has no reason to despise you."

Emily nodded. _Not me __**personally**__,_ she corrected internally.

"Once he recognizes you, things will flow smoothly from there," Rose concluded. She leaned closer to Emily. "Don't give too much away too soon though; I didn't learn as much about his friends as I did about him, so we can't predict how they'll act if you talk about the Confederacy in their presence."

Emily's heartbeat thundered in her ears as she followed Rose toward the front parlor. When she saw Alfred, she thought her heart would leap out of her mouth. _That photograph did not do him __**any**__ justice_, she mused. _Same hair and eyes as before, but something is . . . __**different**__ about him. I can't quite put my finger on what it is, however_.

She started slightly when she noticed that her face seemed like it was on fire, a reaction that confused her. This was just her old friend; why was this heat flowing over her like a gust of wind? Following the instructions Rose had given her yesterday and that day about acting like a proper lady, she whipped open her fan and tried her best to cool down. It worked enough to help her notice the 6 other guests, all who appeared to be in their 20s, standing in the room with Alfred.

"Mrs. Greenhow, thank you for your invitation," Alfred said, bowing slightly. He turned toward the other young people. "Thank you also for letting me bring my friends along. I'm pleased to have the opportunity to introduce them to you." He gestured toward a beautiful young woman with light olive skin, light chestnut hair, and hazel eyes that were almost green in color. "This is Miss Smith."

"How do you do?" she said, curtseying. Emily and Rose returned her greeting.

Next Alfred gestured towards a bashful young woman, who almost looked like a bisque doll with her pale skin, ebony curls, and deep green eyes. "This is Miss Levett," he said, "and next to her is Miss Hudson." The rosy-complexioned, blond woman standing to Miss Levett's left smiled at them, causing her dark blue eyes to sparkle. Both ladies then curtseyed almost in unison.

"And these three gentlemen are Mr. Alexander West, Mr. Franklin Cannon, and Mr. Charles Haynes," Alfred finished, gesturing to each of three handsome men standing off his left as he listed off their names.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Greenhow," Mr. Cannon said, his voice inviting and majestic. He bowed slightly, causing his wavy brown hair to bounce forward with the movement. He pushed the spectacles that had slid down his nose back up so that they nearly framed his blue eyes, which were actually almost violet in color. His fair skin only seemed to make his eyes stand out even more. His features were regal, but his body was large and muscular, a juxtaposition of contrasts that worked well for him.

"What he means is we're all excited by your invitation," Mr. Haynes chimed in. "I hear your cook is the best in the city. I can't wait to find out if that's true." He laughed and gave the ladies a wide smile.

_He could be Alfred's cousin . . . __if he __**had**__ a cousin__,_ Emily thought with a smile as she assessed the young man's appearance: his height, build, skin tone, and even some features were similar. His hair was a little darker than Alfred's and more of a sandy-blond, but his blue eyes were definitely like Alfred's.

"Be polite, Charlie," Mr. West scolded, narrowing his eyes at Mr. Haynes.§ He turned toward Rose. "I apologize for our friend here." Mr. West nudged the other young man with his elbow, reminding him to give a slight bow to greet their hostess. Emily noticed that when Mr. West bowed, a lock of his dark mahogany brown hair on the right side of his face moved to reveal a small scar on his right cheek near his ear. It wouldn't have been noticeable if not for the fact that the scar was lighter-colored than his tanned face and skin.

He sensed her stare and looked directly at her when he raised himself up from his bow. Emily's heart skipped a beat. He pushed back the lock of hair so that it covered his scar again and looked away from her. She spent the next couple of moments trying to decide if she reacted that way because she got caught behaving rudely by staring at him or if it was because she was struck by his blue-green eyes. She glanced at him one more time and decided that he wasn't what he appeared to be. He wasn't as slender as Mr. Haynes or as burly as Mr. Cannon; his structure was somewhere in-between the two body types, and the way he held himself seemed to imply a strength and grace that only someone like an Indian‡ warrior could possess, which was odd because his features **looked** like a white man's.

"Welcome ladies and gentlemen," Rose said, pointing her fan at the nation. "This is my niece, Miss Emily Brown."

Emily looked at Rose. They had agreed to call her by her pseudonym, but making her related to the Greenhows was a new element. Trying her best not to show her surprise, she curtseyed for the group. "I'm please to meet all of you," she said. They all returned her gesture, curtseying or bowing in return. Emily noticed Alfred took a bit more time to look at her than the others did, narrowing his eyes slightly.

"Please join me in the drawing room," Rose said as she gestured out the doorway of the parlor. "To help calm my niece's nervousness with her first formal dinner party, I thought we'd dine in a less-formal style." They followed her and Emily down the hallway toward the indicated room. "Since there was going to be 7 of you, I invited another gentleman to even out our numbers," she told them as they walked into the room.

"He said he might be late," Rose continued. She gestured at plates and food on two tables behind which Charity and Chastity stood, smiling sweetly like angels. "He asked me to let you start without him, so please allow my servants to serve you your meal."

"Bully for him!" Mr. Haynes exclaimed. "I can't wait. All your food looks larrapin'."

Mr. Cannon let out a moan of frustration and brought his fingers to the bridge of his nose in disbelief. "Charles, no slang please," he scolded quietly. Alfred chuckled, and Mr. West brought his hand to his mouth while the ladies used their fans in a similar fashion, all to prevent laughter from escaping.

Mr. Haynes looked sheepish. "I'm sorry. I meant, all of your food looks delicious," he said quietly.

"It's quite all right," Rose told him. "I can appreciate someone with a good appetite; my Robert was also like that. Please don't worry about it, Mr. Haynes."

The young man smiled. "Thank you, ma'am," he said, stepping up to the first table. The rest of the group followed his lead.

"It's going well, my dear," Rose said quietly several minutes later, hiding behind her fan so as to muffle her words.

"How is this 'going well' Rose?" Emily replied in a hushed voice. "So far, only Miss Smith has spoken to me and that was only to ask me how long I'd been in Washington and how I liked the weather. The rest are being quite antisocial." She gestured over to Alfred and his friends. They were clustering all together and talking.

"It's going well because that's the fifth time Alfred has glanced in your direction," Rose stated in a low tone.

Emily's cheeks grew warm at this revelation. _He __has__ been looking at me? Why didn't I notice?_ She glanced in his direction and caught him looking at her once again. He colored slightly and looked away to listen to Mr. Haynes tell him about something someone named "Ben" had done. He laughed and agreed that the man spoken of was always like that.

"I suspect that he remembers you, but he is not sure," Rose continued softly as she closed her fan and tapped it on Emily's arm. "Do not worry, dear," she whispered. "I'll help give you an opportunity to talk with Alfred . . . privately if I can arrange it."

There was a knock at the door, and a few minutes later, an older, serious-looking gentleman entered the room. Alfred and his friends' eyes widened for a moment when they saw who the other guest was. Several of the others then looked at Alfred. He glared at the new guest, clenched his jaw, and reflexively made a fist with his right hand.

"Henry," Rose said, moving towards him. She held out her hand. "Thank you for coming even though you have been busy as of late."

"I apologize for my tardy arrival, Rose," Henry said, kissing her hand. When he looked up, he saw Alfred and the crowd of young people and paled slightly.

Rose, either ignoring or not noticing her new guest's expression, turned to Emily. "Emily dear, this is my good friend, Senator Henry Wilson of Massachusetts*****. He's currently Chairman of the Committee on Military Affairs."

"Please to meet you," Emily said, curtseying.

Mr. Wilson nodded a bow in reply.

"Hello, Wilson," Alfred said, sending an insincere smile towards the other man.

Rose looked from Alfred to Henry. "Why, I had no idea you two were already acquainted!"

"Yes, Mr. Jones and I have known each other for quite a while now," Mr. Wilson replied to her. He turned to look at Alfred. "I'm honestly surprised to see _you_ here; I had no idea you knew Mrs. Greenhow."

Alfred pursed his lips off to the side. "Yes, well, you see—"

"Mr. Jones is my new friend," Rose interrupted, looping her arm around Henry Wilson's arm. "But it's wonderful to know that you and he are old friends; you can help me to get to know this fine young gentleman and his friends better."

She guided Henry over to the tables. "Please have something to eat," she said. "You must be tired from all the military preparations you've had to do lately." She took the plate that Charity had put together for Mr. Wilson and handed it to him. "I hope you haven't had to personally organize all the 90-dayers. From what I've observed yesterday, there must be more soldiers than one could imagine in the area. How many would you say have gathered here in Washington so far?"

Mr. Wilson gave her a warm smile. "Well, I'd say we have about—"

"Wilson," Alfred interrupted. "How is Secretary Seward? I remember that I saw you meeting with him today in the War Office. That's why you were late, correct?"

The other gentleman looked at Alfred with an ashen expression.

"I don't think _anyone_ in the War Office would appreciate you discussing military information with the common citizenry, do you?" Alfred continued.

Mr. Wilson shook his head.

"Mr. Jones, may I have a word with you privately please?" Rose said, frowning at him. She released Mr. Wilson's arm and motioned with her fan toward an empty space several feet to her right. Alfred looked confused but obeyed her by stepping away from the others.

Miss Levett crossed the room for a glass of punch and turned towards Emily. "Where are you visiting from, Miss Brown?" she asked her.

Emily was too distracted by her curiosity to hear what Rose was going to say to Alfred to concentrate on the conversation the other young lady was trying to start. "My family is from Delaware," she said, spouting absentmindedly the first state that came to mind.

"Must I remind you that you are in _my home_, Mr. Jones?" Emily overheard Rose scold him. "If you can't maintain a level of politeness when talking to my guests—regardless of who those guests are or what they are conversing about—I suggest that you keep your comments to the weather and health of others or excuse yourself and leave."

"Oh really?" Miss Levett replied to Emily. "Where in Delaware?"

Alfred looked sheepish. "I apologize. I forgot myself." He paused for a moment. "However, it is widely known that you, Mrs. Greenhow, sympathize with the Confederacy," he continued. "So as a good friend of Mr. Wilson, I hope you don't mind if I ask you to do the same and not ask him any more questions about the military or the war effort." He looked steadfastly at her. "It would make things _uncomfortable_ for all present if you persisted."

Emily's heart thudded in her chest. _Why does that request feel like a threat?_

"Miss Brown?" Miss Levett persisted.

Rose smiled at Alfred. "Of course, Mr. Jones."

"Miss Brown," Miss Levett called again a little more loudly than before.

Emily turned toward the other young woman. "Yes?" Heat flowed through her cheeks when she realized she had no idea why the other woman was calling her name.

Miss Levett smiled. "Where in Delaware? I, uh . . ." She glanced at Mr. West. ". . . know someone from there."

Emily froze. _What was I thinking? I don't know __that__ state very well._ Then she recalled that Dorothea had often mentioned some family in one of the towns. "Wilmington," she replied finally. "Excuse me; I need to speak with my aunt." Miss Levett nodded and Emily turned her attention towards Rose.

Rose had returned to Mr. Wilson, looping her arm around his again. "I apologize about neglecting you, Henry dear. Mr. Jones has just explained to me that I should not compromise your position by asking you questions that may be militarily sensitive. He doesn't understand that I was merely concerned about all our boys out in the recent wet weather. It must have soaked the poor dears during their training and maybe even slowed down the movements of the troops, correct?"

"Mrs. Greenhow!" Alfred interjected loudly.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Jones?" she replied, turning to look at him with an innocent expression on her face. "I'm merely discussing the weather as you requested."

Alfred's face crimsoned and he looked like he was ready to explode.

Mr. Cannon moved to grab Alfred by the arm. "Please excuse us for a moment, madam," he said to Rose. "I need to discuss something with Mr. Jones privately." He looked at Mr. Wilson. "Mr. Wilson, I was wondering if you wouldn't mind joining Mr. Haynes and Mr. West. They have a few questions they need to ask you. I apologize for mixing work with pleasure, but the matter won't wait."

Mr. Wilson nodded. He turned towards Rose and brought her hand up to his lips. "Excuse me, Rose. Duty calls." He then moved toward the other men. Mr. Haynes looked bewildered at the turn of events, but Mr. West nodded at Mr. Cannon and then proceeded to quietly speak with Mr. Wilson.

Satisfied, Mr. Cannon then tugged on Alfred's arm and led him out of the room. Emily's stomach clenched when she sensed an awkward silence from the women in the room. The only sound that could be heard was the rumble of thunder and the pattering of rain as it hit the drawing room windows. Emily became suddenly uncertain if she should continue towards Rose or return to talk some more with Miss Levett.

"That reminds me, Emily," Rose said, moving to loop her arms with the nation. "There was something I wished to discuss with you in the other room. I apologize to all of you as well; the matter I need to relate also won't wait. Please excuse us both; I shall return shortly." She then guided Emily out of the drawing room and towards the back parlor.

"You must forgive me, dear, for causing that scene," Rose said as soon as they were out of the others' earshot. They could hear Mr. Cannon's scolding tone near the front of the house, but they were far enough away to avoid being overheard by the two men. "The truth is I discovered this morning that the Secret Service was getting a little too close to detecting who one of my contacts inside the White House was and I needed to throw suspicion onto Mr. Wilson."

"But I thought he was your friend," Emily said.

"He is a good friend, true, but he's also a staunch abolitionist, Lincolnite, and far too friendly for a married man," Rose countered. "That entire exchange of words I had with Henry and with Mr. Jones could not have worked more perfectly. I intentionally baited Mr. Jones and the others into suspecting Henry as one of my contacts."

"I see," Emily said. "Well, then there's nothing for me to forgive. I understand you have your obligations to your contacts. But it's likely that Mr. Wilson didn't appreciate you calling that kind of attention to him, right? Are you all right with him hating you?"

Rose let out a soft laugh. "I doubt Henry will allow any accusations the others send his way to stand. He would never let the suspicions of a few young people take him down politically. But it _will_ shift the focus off of my contact enough that he'll be able to breathe easier." She sent Emily a wry smile. "Besides, I doubt Henry understood what I was doing, and even if he did, I'll tell him that I didn't mean for it to go the way it did and then ask his forgiveness. I know he'll forgive me. Henry is kind, gentle, and unvindictive even if he is a bit of a . . . well, he is what we dignified ladies call a roué if you get my meaning."

"But the reason I was apologizing wasn't because of that," Rose continued as they entered the back parlor. "It was because I was so focused on accomplishing my goal that I forgot to help you with Mr. Jones, and I fear I may have upset him in the process of obtaining my objective. I hope that he hasn't decided to leave before I can arrange a private meeting with him for you." Rose released Emily's arm. "Will you wait here until I see if I can convince him to meet with you?"

Emily nodded. "I will give you all the time you need."

After Rose left, Emily took the time to look around the room since she hadn't been in that part of the house yet. There was an ornate mirror over the fireplace mantel, which made room look bigger. The sofa and chairs in the room were upholstered with a rich burgundy color. The wallpaper was pretty and complemented the furnishings. All over the walls were framed photos of people Emily assumed were family. Finally, the small tables around the room were decorated with trinkets and heirlooms, and one of them had a vase with some tiny bluish-purple irises in it. Emily walked over to this table and leaned over to smell the delicate blooms.

"No, I will not brook any protests," Rose said as she entered the room. "I absolutely insist that if you want my forgiveness you have to ask it of my niece as well. This was supposed to be one of many coming out parties for her, and I wanted it to be a pleasant one; your behavior has marred the experience, so you must take responsibility."

_Who__m__ is she __talking__ to?_ Emily wondered as she turned to see Rose practically dragging Alfred by the arm into the room. Suddenly her mouth went dry and her hands began sweating despite the room not being that warm at all.

Rose glanced at Emily and smiled. "Now if you'll excuse me, I must see to the other guests," she said, releasing Alfred's arm. "I believe have heard enough about you from my friends, Mr. Jones, that I can trust you alone for a few moments with my darling Emily." With that, Rose turned and left the two of them to stare at the door as it closed after her.

* * *

**A/N**

**Translations:**

**billet – (archaic) A short letter; a note**

**callow – means lacking experience of life, immature. Rose called Alfred this because she assumed (incorrectly) that he was like other 19-year-olds: immature, inexperienced, unsophisticated, untrained, and untried. She would have thought differently if she knew that he was actually over 200 years old.**

**Seraphim – plural for a type of angel, the name _Seraph_ means "burning ones" or nobles. They are also sometimes called the "ones of love" because their name might come from the Hebrew root for "love". They have six wings, but they only use two of them for flying (they use the other 4 to cover their faces and feet, which they may do because, being so close to God, they would witness His full glory which would be too powerful to behold. Feet are considered "unclean" and so not worthy to be shown to God. [Some scholars also think that "feet" could actually mean "genitals".) Their position is flying above God's throne, and their primary duty is to constantly glorify and praise God and be the personal attendant angels of God. The Seraphim are said to be the highest rank of angel, probably because of their close proximity to God.**

**Bully - (slang) hurray or terrific**

**Larrapin' – (slang) Very good tasting applied to something really yummy. **

**90-dayers – Because the Union expected the Civil War to last no more than 3 months and because there were restrictions on the number of men and the length of time they could serve that the President of the United States could summon (no soldier could be forced to serve more than three months in any one year), the 75,000 militia volunteers Lincoln requested to help the 16,000 regular troops defend the North were only required to fulfill a 90-day enlistment with an option to sign up for more time after that. The nickname derived from this. It is interesting to note that this enlistment call from Lincoln prompted Tennessee, Virginia, and Arkansas to join the Confederacy. Kentucky stated they would not send volunteers to a Northern army intent on subjugating their Southern brethren, but they also never joined the rest of the South in fighting against the Union either.**

**Roué – a dissolute or lecherous man in fashionable society; a rake (from French, literally means one broken on the wheel)**

**brook – allow or tolerate**

**+Among the most notable Confederate lady spies was Mrs. Rose O'Neal Greenhow. Captain Thomas Jordan recruited her into a spy ring just before he left the Union army to eventually become a general in the Confederate army. Because of her late husband, Rose was in a social position that gave her access to many officials in high places. She was attractive and charming which gained the attention of high-ranking Northern officers, congressmen, diplomats, and business men. She never concealed her sympathies for the Confederacy, and her personality was such that even this attitude didn't stop her friends, including Secretary of State Seward, Senator Henry Wilson, and many high-ranking military leaders, from visiting her. Eventually, she was jailed for her espionage activity, but she never admitted to spying nor implicated her fellow conspirators, so the Union had no choice but to keep her in prison. Ironically, this didn't stop her, activities; it just slowed them down a bit.**

**However, when she learned that she was going to be transferred to a Boston prison, she informed the Union that she would rather be sent to Virginia and give up her home in Washington DC than go to Boston. The Union released her and the same day she arrived in Richmond, she was visited by Jefferson Davis as well as many Confederate officers (this was the first time Rose had met the Confederate president; the Rose in my story was pretending to be close friends with him as a ruse for the Johnsons, just in case their loyalty to him wasn't as solid as they implied it was). During these visits, friends convinced her to travel to England to ask for funds from British sympathizers and encourage English manufacturers to buy Southern cotton. She was successful in these endeavors as well and did everything she could to increase British support for the Confederate cause. **

**She returned to America fall of 1864 via a blockade runner. The steamer ran aground on a sand bar on the North Carolina coast on September 30. Fearing capture by the Union, she and two other agents fled in a lifeboat. The heavy surf capsized the boat before it reached the shore. The two men with Rose were saved, and they did their best to save her; unfortunately, she had her waist-belt filled with golden sovereigns, and the weight of the gold dragged her underneath the water. Her body washed ashore the next day. In gratitude for all she had done for the Confederacy, she was buried in Wilmington, North Carolina, with full military honors.**

‡ **My use of "Indian" here is intentional; I am not being unknowingly politically incorrect. In 1861, Native Americans were thought of and called "Indians" even by people like Alfred and Emily.**

**§ There are several rules/guidelines of Victorian society etiquette that Mr. Haynes, Alfred and others at the party broke: **

**-Do not use profanity, vulgar terms, slang phrases, words of double meaning, or language that will bring the blush to any person.**

**-Do not yield to bashfulness. Do not isolate yourself, sitting back in a corner, waiting for someone to come and talk with you. Step out; have something to say.**

**-Do not discuss politics in general company. You will probably not convert your opponent, and he or she will not convert you. To discuss those topics is to arouse feeling without any good result.**

**-Do not engage in argument.**

**-Do not interrupt another when speaking.**

**-Do not allow yourself to lose temper or to speak excitedly.**

**-Do not talk very loudly. A firm, clear, distinct, yet mild, gentle and musical voice has great power.**

**-Do not always commence a conversation by allusion to the weather.**

**-Remember that the person to whom you are speaking is not to blame for the opinion he or she entertains. Opinions are not made by us, but they are made for us by circumstances. With the same organization, training and circumstances around us, we would have the same opinions ourselves.**

***Mr. Henry Wilson's name was tainted in 1861 when rumors began circulating after the First Battle of Bull Run (a.k.a. First Manassas by the Confederates) that he might have revealed to Rose O'Neal Greenhow the plans for the invasion of Virginia culminating in that battle. These rumors were not unfounded, though. As Chairman of the Committee on Military Affairs he would have been a valuable resource to southern spy (and Washington society figure); in addition, Wilson (though married) had seen a great deal of Mrs. Greenhow before that battle. Many believed that while he was with her, he may have told her about the plans of Major General Irvin McDowell. This information may have been part of the intelligence Mrs. Greenhow passed on to Major General Pierre Beauregard. More evidence was stacked against him when Rose was arrested and it was discovered that she held a packet of love letters signed by "H." Fortunately, the letters were not in his handwriting, and it was well known that Mrs. Greenhow knew many other senators, members of Lincoln's cabinet, and other highly placed sources of information. After Rose's arrest, Mr. Wilson worked hard to establish himself as a trust-worthy individual. He helped raise a volunteer infantry and helped with other activities that supported the war effort. He eventually was successful in throwing off the stigma of his past, enabling him to be Ulysses S. Grant's Vice President for the president's second term in office.**

**In the most recent biography on Wilson, an alternative was suggested as the real leak: Horace White. The _Chicago Tribune_ made Horace White its Washington correspondent at the start of the War. This permitted him also to hold the important post of clerk of the Senate Committee on Military Affairs (the same committee that Wilson was on), which position gave to him a remarkable insight into the conduct of the war and made him a great asset to Rose and her fellow spies. **


End file.
